beautiful moments

just in time for the ides of february

2010-02-16T00:47:00.000-08:00

It's official! After a couple months of tinkering and lots of help from patient (and extremely knowledgeable) friends, www.katiebeth.me is up and running! Finally. Huge huge huge thanks and #tacklehugs especially to David (@DavidLutzy) and John (@nortoons).

I'll still be blogging at blogs.zherpa.com/notfearless, especially now that skydiving and climbing season are starting, but my permanent blog will be at katiebeth.me. If you happen to follow or link to Beautiful Moments from your blogroll, please update if you get a chance. (I'm working on learning how to forward automatically from Blogspot to Wordpress. Hang tight, that will happen eventually!)

Yay for new things!!

heavier things

2010-02-11T18:49:00.000-08:00

Confession: I'm not always bright and shiny and energetic and full of tacklehugs. Sometimes I have to be reminded of this the hard way. For all the bouncy and enthusiastic KatieBeth that takes up space in my personality, there's some capacity for deep sadness in there too. That's hard for me to say.

Because of the nature of counseling as a professional endeavor to be exercised in confidence, we often speak frankly in most of my classes, understanding that what is said in that room doesn't leave the room. This can create a very honest atmosphere. And since my classes this semester are psychiatric rehab, group counseling, psychosocial aspects of rehab, and work & disability, there's a lot of honesty and heaviness going around.

Both last night and this afternoon, in class, I struggled with the groupthink that started to develop surrounding negative statements and feelings. Today in work & disability, we explored issues regarding social justice and situational ethics, and my classmates didn't hesitate to talk about what irked them. Last night in psychiatric rehab, the discussion of stigma and statistics and mental illness was explored by the comments of my peers.

Don't get me wrong. Social injustices and poverty and unemployment and disability and misunderstandings and misjudgments are all issues that make my little heart well up with frustration, but frustration will only get me so far. In fact, it mostly just serves to make me visibly upset, like it did in class today, with nowhere to put those feelings except into flushed cheeks and occasional hot tears.

So then what do I do when I feel like we're all so very susceptible to convincingly presented and emotionally wrought information, perpetuating the negativity of hopelessness? I accept that I might actually be more of a cynic than I'd like to admit, but only inasmuch as it spurs me toward movement and action. I'm patient and positive, but I can't handle the kind of pessimism the world wants to hand me sometimes.

But...I haven't yet given up on that whole “change the world” dream. I find joy in briefly exchanged smiles and random acts of kindness and honest conversations and hugs. I think those are the things that change the world...mine at least. Because what is my world except for an assembly of my perceptions of it?

What do you think?

stories and stitches

2010-02-11T00:34:00.000-08:00

I knit. I'm not a good knitter, but I knit. I like the way it feels to be moving while I'm sitting still. When possible, I keep a knitting project or the means to start one with me (along with whatever book I'm reading and a notebook with ample blank pages--those two things have been part of my leaving-the-house assemblage since grade school). Sometimes I listen to music while I knit, and sometimes I let the activity around me dictate my accompaniment.

I find the rhythm of stitches and rows soothing as I let my thoughts wander. I take frequent breaks to look around, to read a page in a book, to respond to a text, but I'm always glad to return to the progress of my project.

When I picked up the afghan that Grandma Kay had sent to me, I found myself quickly lost in its story. Grandma V (who recently passed away) crocheted it. I don't know when she made this afghan in particular, and I don't know why Grandma Kay chose this one to send to me. I like the way it smells and feels and looks, and I wonder at what its existence saw before joining my growing army of blankets (I kind of have a problem with excessive blanket acquisition that started at least two decades ago). I don't know what Grandma V watched or saw or listened to or thought about while she was making it, but the possibilities give me chills. It may have enjoyed a quiet, tv-in-the-evenings sort of life before, or it may have covered a cold lap during a warm conversation. Maybe it was tucked into a closet after it was made, or maybe it was intended for a recipient it never met.

I wonder, and I wonder if maybe I'm just far too inclined to ascribe significance, but that realization has never stopped me before. Brings a new meaning to handmade gifts from friends, doesn't it?

non-resolution update no.1

2010-02-08T23:58:00.000-08:00

For the month of January, I tried to practice love. I tried to practice it in the way that doesn't discriminate or hold back or pretend, but allows for each moment and person and interaction to come as it will--to love myself and to love others. I won't say I succeeded at January's principle (see this entry for reference), but it went well, even if it means I cried a little more and felt a little deeper than I'm accustomed to. I loved. I'll keep on loving.

For February, the plan is to DO something about the things that I find upsetting, to not stand idly by and complain about how rotten the world is, and to not waste energy on petty frustrations. I've already found myself a handful of times this month having to talk myself down, rationally, when I realized I was wasting energy on being upset about things that don't matter.

The things that do matter to me, though, I need to talk about. I'm not just a climber/knitter/skydiver/future-cat-lady. I'm someone who's VERY passionate about the potential people have to be good and to feel good and to make and reach goals. This is something I talk about in my classes as a rehabilitation counseling student. Individuals with disabilities get pushed aside and expectations and standards get lowered and accommodations can be nonexistent. We discuss these issues in my graduate classes every day--the reality of disability and the potential people have to live full lives not defined by diagnoses and doctor visits. Lives full of adventure and accomplishment. All people deserve that.

We all know someone with a disability, and we encounter disability on a daily basis. A lot of disabilities are invisible...and some aren't. We're taught our whole lives that diversity is good but something that I'm pretty sure gets deeply engrained at about the seventh grade teaches us being different is scary. For my part, having to wear a back brace for a few years right smack dab in the throes of adolescence made the decision for me, kind of. It was probably all in my head, but I felt different. At a time when I wanted to fit in, I was different.

However, no one told me that I couldn't be anything I wanted or do anything I wanted, jacked up spine or not. Some people aren't that lucky. I want to have a voice, to be a voice, to encourage and empower and to make a little bit of a stink about how this human condition in all its broken parts is pretty incredible. If there's one thing I am passionate about, it's that the people I come into contact with, disability or not, feel loved and heard and important. And since I can't change anyone else's actions and reactions, I have to start with me. So that's exactly what I plan to do.

Ain't that Mister Mister on the radio?

2010-02-04T02:07:00.000-08:00

"'Well,' said Pooh, 'what I like best,' and then he had to stop and think. Because although Eating Honey was a very good thing to do, there was a moment just before you began to eat it which was better than when you were, but he didn’t know what it was called." --A.A. Milne

The last 50 yards before I was greeted by the Baca family, just past the revolving doors at the Sunport arrivals gate, I remember smiling in anticipation, reveling in that moment just before something really really good. It's one of my favorite things, that moment. And this one didn't let me down.

Let me backtrack a little. I've been lucky...er, blessed enough to have gotten to know the Bacas over the last six months or so, first via goodnaturedly-sarcasm-soaked Twitter @replies and eventually email, text, chats, phone calls, and mail. Somehow, in all the stilted communication that is characteristic of this digital world, there was some connection. We made friends. For weeks, we talked visits until I finally opted to purchase a plane ticket good for one long weekend at Casa de Baca. I think the countdown was just over 30 days at that point...not that I was counting.

The last few days before the trip were the hardest...I could hardly concentrate on anything but being excited to finally hug my friends. In the middle of all of it though, there was the convincing others and myself that I wasn't crazy for flying across the country to visit people I'd never actually met. Would they be like I expected? My mom expressed concern about receiving a phone call asking her to please come to New Mexico to secure my remains. I assured her that was highly unlikely, but it raises the issue--how bold is too bold? Yes, I love and live and play and feel very boldly and fully. I'm a both-feet-at-once kind of girl with a tender heart and an open mind. I'm aware that my decision to practice optimism and believe the best about people whenever possible leaves me vulnerable. And so far, it's been worth it.

Back to the Sunport.

Can I just say that the Bacas are one good-looking bunch? Their photos and videos and likenesses across various social networking interfaces do them no justice. Somehow, I managed nervous hugs as we made our way to their truck, trying not to let my sleep-deprivation-induced tendency to get over-stimulated get the best of me. While PB and I waited for the Mexican take-out lunch we picked up on the way home, he confirmed what I suspected. It was totally fine to just be me. I mean, I knew this, but it was important to me to hear and believe that if any of it was too much--the excitement, the activity--that it was okay to say the word. All of it is a lot to take in, especially after a night of no sleep and lots of travel. I needed to absorb for a while before I settled, and this was okay.

Later that afternoon and into the evening, we went climbing, marathon-session style. I was pleased to find that a) I am not the only one who enjoys marathon climb sessions, b) I am not the only one who frequently forgets meals during said sessions, c) climbers are pretty consistently similar from town to town, and this helps a new girl settle a little, and d) there's nothing quite like spicing up yoga class with a little mischief. The post-climb beers were appreciated, as were more hugs...specifically from the ever-hug-receptive Doni. Needless to say, I slept very well that night.

Briefly the next morning, I fought for lucidity and then was quite happy to realize I was still in New Mexico, with breakfast waiting in the kitchen and tacklehugs in the hall. We took our time getting ready for the day, and I was treated to a tour of the JCC and the local museum, as well as some gallivanting about Old Town, where I fruitlessly tried to convince the Bacas the overcast, slightly chilly weather really wasn't that cold. Sigh, and I come from CA, where we don't exactly have Arctic winters.

We spent a pleasant evening in that night, playing the Wii and chatting and enjoying the company of friends. One of my favorite occurrences of the weekend was late-night chatting with E, the first of which took place after PB and the Chickabiddy had called it a night on Friday.

By Saturday, it was clear that I should have no qualms about frequent and unsolicited hugs, and I didn't. Now, you should know that a KatieBeth requires an inordinate amount of hugs and snuggles, and the Baca family didn't miss a beat. Ah, to be surrounded by equally contact-oriented friends! More climbing gym time ensued that afternoon, with a rushed exit so we could make it to church on time. Church was one of my favorite parts of the whole weekend, save for the unfortunate (and literal) run-in I had with a cactus plant on the way home. Lesson learned: do not trip over cactus plants.

Upon arriving home PB & E set to work preparing for the upcoming #woofup of sorts while the Chickabiddy and I took great care in performing intricate medical tests on Bunny and petting the puppycats. Soon, friends arrived and conversations were woven. Hugs were exchanged and stories told. Girl pile snuggles followed late night #tpups, and I couldn't help but feel just utterly blessed and loved and lucky and full.

Sunday, we dragged our very tired selves to yoga, fighting for energy through bouts of sillyness. Sunday afternoon held more climbing and the evening was enjoyably mellow, tinged with the reality that the visit would soon be over. Another late night chatting with and hugging E.

The next morning, I reluctantly packed my belongings as we prepared for one final jaunt through town and up to to the foothills to see the city from up a little higher, as well as a visit to the bookstore. The last hour, spent at the Sunport, was intermittently very joyful and very sad. My visit had turned out even better than I could have planned, and leaving was very very difficult. It hurt. I was glad for my sunglasses as I boarded the plane.

I learned a few things. The vulnerability of loving wholeheartedly and moment-by-moment being happy to be who I am is totally worth it, even if it means making the goodbyes that much harder. It is possible (and even okay) to make friends through unconventional means. Sometimes those friends turn out to be more like family than friends in the way that makes you realize you're unusually blessed. And that is pretty darn awesome.

Thank you, @paukku, @Binkibear, Biddy, @orbiteleven, @emilysusanjones, @dynomightdoni and all the rest for sharing your lives with me for a weekend. You touched this CA girl's heart pretty deeply.

my non-resolutions

2010-01-25T00:54:00.001-08:00

I haven't made a list of goals for the year. I actually did make one at the end of January of last year, and was quite surprised to realize I had reached many of them by the time the clock struck midnight on December 31st. Some will continue, and some may fall by the wayside. I think eventually I'll write some down for this year, but it's not a priority.

My project for 2010 is a little different. I want to focus on the following principles--one each month. For me, these have a strong religious connotation and connection, but I think that they can apply no matter your beliefs. I don't anticipate mastering any of them, but merely practicing them, thinking on them, and carrying them with me into coming years.

January: Love with sincerity.
February: Don't stand by & watch. Do something about the bad things in the world.
March: Hold “things” loosely, and cling to what is good.
April: Be selfless. Give preference to others.
May: Know where I'm at--live with zeal and passion.
June: Look for opportunities for grace--to give and receive it. Be hopeful.
July: Pray often.
August: Practice hospitality.
September: Bless those who speak ill of me.
October: Don't be afraid to be part of others' lives. Laugh and cry with them--even if it's messy.
November: Practice harmony.
December: Practice humility.

beautiful moments

2010-01-24T00:50:00.000-08:00

February 2008 (dance rehearsal--Day 1):
http://web.mac.com/kenneth__/Site/Its_Kenneth_Piece.html

In my undergrad, and for a couple years in high school, I danced. This was one of my favorite pieces, and my first semester back after busting up my ankle (I'm the one in the ankle brace). I miss this a lot. That day, I felt like a dancer, more than most days before or since.

August 2006:
there's beauty in being
old enough to know
and young enough to forget
to get lost in those moments
where it seems morning will never come
the blind innocence of believing
that we are infinite impenetrable indefinable
we watch the sky as the music softly wanders across the night
'cause we're the stars and constellations
burning bright twinkling fading
plummeting through deep black skies
our secrets safe beneath the night
but we'll leave our footprints
and I'll draw pictures in the dirt
so when morning arrives, we'll remember
what it felt like.

The night before school started that semester, we went up into the hills to be kids and in between rounds of the Postal Service I caught myself watching the sky and feeling like it wasn't always going to be this way, and I was sad. So I wrote about it the next day.

_______________________

These are from a while ago...but since I don't link back to old blogs, I thought I'd share here, with some commentary. It's nice to remember things.

climbing and relationships

2010-01-21T01:15:00.000-08:00

Ah, relationships. At the tail end of tonight's gym session, while we were vying for one last good pump before it was time to lock up, conversation turned to climbers and relationships. What works, what doesn't, and why the heck it works out that way.

Our scientific observations boiled down to the following:
Girl non-climber + guy climber = most successful
Girl climber + guy climber = moderately successful
Girl climber + guy non-climber = least successful

...with “successful” being operationally defined as you see fit.

Now, since these...equations, if you will, are merely tentative, as all scientific theories ought to be (if I learned nothing else in that goshdarned research methods class last semester, I learned that much), we can merely speculate as to why.

Why does being a climber take such a toll on romantic endeavors? I know relationships aren't easy, climbing or not. I'll admit that I've chosen climbing over relationships in the past when I realized things wouldn't work out. I'm slow to share that passion, because when all is said and done and the relationship is over, climbing is still there. The rocks--plastic or not--are still there. I'm happy when I'm climbing, and I'm happy when I'm with other people that love it.

Sam offered some insight tonight in saying that confidence is attractive. And, as most climbers will agree, climbing builds confidence. Be it your first day or your first lead, there's always room to grow and cultivate that confidence. Is there a threshold at which it's less intriguing and more intimidating to be a confident, climbing-obsessed individual? Do I have it all wrong? Why does it seem to work better when the guy is the climber, or at least moreso than the girl?

It's not just coincidence that I feel at home in this sport, and it's not just happenstance that I have a lot in common with other girls that do. I think there are personality traits that we share, us climbers--guys and girls. I say this very generally, but I do stand by it. I have met some of my dearest friends since becoming a climber. I've never before participated in a sport in which I experience as much of a mental challenge as a physical one, or that provides the kinesthetic processing opportunities that climbing does to me. Climbing by no means solves all my problems, but it occasionally alters how I deal with them and think about them. I've learned about myself and seen my peers do the same. It's exciting.

I don't know that I want the answers to these questions, but the discussions are certainly interesting. What are your criticisms? Theories? Experiences? Thoughts?

why I don't eat cooked carrots

2010-01-15T01:41:00.000-08:00

Based on some recent conversations with a good friend and some past conversations with dear old Dad, as well as a story that Mom LOVES to tell, especially when I bring friends or significant others around...here's a story from my relatively normal childhood (I swear, there will be a point to this. Don't I always make a point at the end?)

When I was about four, my family was preparing for a post-dinner shopping outing. Now, I want to assume this was Christmastime, but I'd have to check my facts with Mom to be sure, as I was only four and my memory is a little fuzzy and tainted with Mom's retellings. I was told that I had to finish my vegetables--let's go ahead and assume these were cooked carrots, which to this day I do not like--before we left.

Like the compliant daughter I was and mostly still am, I finished those veggies. The shopping trip commenced as planned, with my then two-year-old brother in tow. I'm sure they had their hands full with him and weren't paying super-close attention to me. He was, after all, a pretty headstrong and busy kid, at least from a big sister's point of view.

Fast forward about two or three hours. We're home, and Mom's suspicious. I haven't said a word since dinner, which (for those of you who know me in real life) is significantly uncharacteristic. Using her Mom-ly intuition, she realizes what has taken place. I am instructed to open my mouth, where--you guessed it--I still had the veggies. Something about the vitamins having been sucked out preceded permission to spit the contents of my mouth into the trash.

And I spit them out triumphantly. I had successfully avoided the eating of my vegetables, with all the lack of forethought a four-year-old can muster. I'm sure it must have occurred to me that spitting them out earlier or--gasp--swallowing them might have been possible alternatives, but suffice it to say my reasoning skills at age four, though clearly highly developed, were not quite what they are now.

So what's the point? My point is really that as an adult, I'm learning to like this quiet iron will of mine. It takes some practice to get it right and I've nowhere near figured it out, but the more times I see what happens when I put my mind to something, the more encouraged I am. I've held my fair share of proverbial vegetables in my mouth plenty of times when there probably was a viable alternative, and figured out a lot in the process. I don't think I learned conventional limits. No one really told me not to aim high, and the people that did...well, their loss. When I take on new projects or skills or hobbies or jobs or endeavors or a myriad of other things that I don't have extra time for, it rarely crosses my mind that I shouldn't try so hard.

May your life lessons not involve soggy, lukewarm carrots--unless that's what you like. Then good on ya, and you can have mine while you're at it!

love, fear, & barney boots

2010-01-07T09:29:00.000-08:00

“...that can't-eat, can't-sleep, reach-for-the-stars, over-the-fence, world-series kind of stuff...” -It Takes Two, 1995

I'm in love. I mean, I've known it for a while now, so it's really no surprise. It's the kind of love that invades your dreams and makes you seem like a flake when it comes to social functions. It's the kind of love that changes what you talk about and what you do, and you find yourself daydreaming about it all hours of the day. It aches, and it hurts, and it makes your tummy fluttery.

I'm in love with climbing. And lead climbing...well, that's like a really good first kiss. Fireworks, sweaty palms, shaky hands--the whole thing. At least in my experience.

My first lead climb was January 5, and in anticipation, I was quite literally in a can't-eat-can't-sleep state of being. I climbed (er, got) in bed two hours earlier than usual the night before, and slept fitfully all night, dreaming about climbing and tossing and turning until morning. Like usual, my best sleep didn't come until the last hour before my alarm went off, but at least I didn't oversleep. I had carefully chosen my attire (a worn out & hole-y but warm Smartwool and my North Face khakis, if you must know) the night before, and actually slept in my baselayer in order to emphasize the anticipation.

Despite my preparations, I was still 15 minutes late to the meetup at the climbing gym before heading up the hill, but no one seemed to mind. We made one stop just past the fog line, for gas and snacks, before pulling off the road into a familiar clearing to hike the approach. As soon as we had set down our packs and stripped our completely unnecessary down jackets and long sleeves, we organized gear and harnessed up. I was raring to go, ready to get on the wall. I had mentally prepared myself for this--my first sport lead.

I counted bolts, threw on a couple extra quickdraws--just in case--and roped up. I was confident in Ray's belay, and after checking each other, I started gingerly up the easy slab. I wasn't deliberate with my feet, and my palms were sweating like mad. First clip. Deep breath. I moved slowly up the face, self-talking my way through each hesitation. Anchor set and clipped. “Take!” yelled down. “First lead!” I said, just loudly enough so Ray could hear it. “Good job!” Mike yelled up. Ray lowered me off and pulled the rope so he could do HIS first lead. We switched spots, and I watched as he hesitated up the glassy start, slipping only twice--after he had clipped, thank goodness.

Jenny and Ryan both did the route, and then I reviewed with Mike how to set the rappel to clean it. I ended up toproping since I had already led, and upon reaching the anchor, mentally reviewed the procedure for the rappel. Setting a rappel holds the same allure for me as packing my parachute--it's methodical and measured--and once I understood it, I was confident in doing it.

We set another climb, leaving the draws set, and I insisted on going last so I could set the rappel. This time, I was a little more confident on lead. However, upon lowering myself to the ledge from which we were belaying, I was distinctly aware that I was near a personal threshold. The complete process of leading, cleaning, and rapping had taken a lot of nerves for a person who in all actuality is kind of a scaredy cat.

Now, no one really believes me when I say that, because the girl who climbs rocks and skydives can't possibly be scared. In truth, she is. She chooses to do those things anyways, though, because being scared and doing it anyway tends to have better results than being scared and standing still. It's a lot like that first kiss...

Anyways, back to the climbing. By this time, it was about lunchtime and absolutely gorgeous weather. We had been watching the fog roll in and out of the valley below us all morning, enjoying tank top weather from our vantage point. You can't ASK for better climbing weather. Sunny and warm--but not hot--and green, instead of the dead brown of midsummer here. After the second lead, I was a little fried. I hesitated to do more, instead belaying over and over, taking photos of the scenery, and generally trying to look a lot less scared than I felt. Our belay ledge suddenly didn't seem so spacious, and I got shaky just thinking about more climbing. Mike gently talked me into one last pitch, but without making me feel like I had to do it. Softening his sometimes-gruff manner, he confessed that he had felt the same things he was seeing on my face when he had started climbing. I trusted that, and I trusted him, so I took the lead.

This one took a lot of self-talk and deep breaths, but the higher I got, the better I felt. I felt confident enough at that point to clip in to the anchor, traverse to a rogue quickdraw, and traverse back before lowering. At that point, Ryan and I decided to hike up the approach while the other three climbed out, as the walk off was a little more than either of us wanted to do at that point. Ryan is pretty freaked out by heights, and I was happy enough to have a buddy for the scramble out. The two of us ended up waiting a while at the top, talking about his time in the Navy, art, climbing, and life in general.

At some point, we had decided to go see Avatar upon arriving back in town, so as soon as we were in range we looked up movie times and agreed on a 7 o'clock show. That left us a couple of hours to spare, which we filled with burritos and a trip to Target for footie pajamas. The Target detour proved only moderately successful, and I became the new owner of a pair of glow-in-the-dark pajamas, covered in skulls, which I proudly wore to the movie theater along with my down jacket and bright purple Uggs.

Looking our climbing best, we commandeered the end of a row so as not to disturb the other patrons with our aroma, and settled in for what would be my second viewing of the movie. I think I will not want to see it again in the theater--though it's a beautiful movie, it's bordering on a little too much for my over-sensory, can't-sit-still self to see it more than once or twice. That, and you can't help but leave the theater a little wrought after seeing it.

Just short of three hours later, we shivered out to the cars, where we were stopped by a man collecting money for his ministry. Now, I'm really not all that keen on being approached in a parking lot EVER, but felt a little more comfortable with the guys there with us, and this fellow turned out to be pretty good-natured. He even commented on my “Barney shoes”. I didn't get strange vibes from him...the five of us laughed and chatted for a few minutes and then headed for our respective vehicles. I think the boys gave him a couple dollars.

I drove home without the radio, reveling in the good energy of a great day. The next day I was a little out of sorts, as I always am after an amazing trip or triumph. It just makes it a little hard to type when my fingers get all twitchy and achy thinking about climbing...

when yarn isn't just yarn

2010-01-04T01:40:00.001-08:00

There is some comfort found in extrapolating the significance of the mundane. I don't know what it is about me that makes me feel like I have to assign meaning to everything. Dates, numbers, events, moments...I can recall being in elementary school, looking out the window at my Dad & brother playing in the yard and thinking, “this is a moment I would like to remember”. There was nothing special about that particular afternoon, either. Fortunately, this quirk of sorts has lent itself to the realization of good moments lately--almost like I take mental snapshots. Riding bikes in the afternoon, on the last day of summer before school started last August...camping in Joshua Tree, squished up next to Nina and Rick by the campfire...last month, out by the new science building on campus, caught up in the overwhelming beauty of an autumn afternoon...driving down the road to the grocery store and being so tickled by life that I couldn't help but laugh out loud. These recent moments I hold dear.

Whatever it is that constructs all this significance in my wrought little mind was hard at work tonight, immensely satisfied in analyzing how detangling a colossal tangle in my knitting yarn might represent something bigger. For the better part of nearly three hours, I calmly picked through yards and yards of the green fiber, all the while (and with initial encouragement from Louise and Tali) considering the greater implications of such a task. This tactile therapy of sorts couldn't have come at a better time.

Somehow, I had managed to work the string into a massive tangle. Instead of preemptively organizing the thread, I had let it become a confusing mess. Eventually, I had to use my camp knife (it was handier than my scissors!) to make a single cut, and still spent a good hour after that working that knot out. Now, without drawing too many stilted connections, I think I've let parts of my life look like that green disaster of yarn these last few months. I hope for the best and assume things will work themselves out and before I know it I've got a gigantic tangle and I keep pulling hoping I won't get to the point where it's stuck and won't pull anymore. And then I get frustrated! How did I let things get so messy? What is this pile in my hands that I can't use for anything constructive?

As I sprawled across my bedroom floor pulling loop after loop, working deeper and deeper, I found some peace. There were moments of frustration and of impatience, sure, but the resolution was worth it. The process of untangling helped to sort out more than just the yarn. There was some balance achieved in the middle of all of that. That ridiculous pile of threads didn't solve all my problems by any means, but it helped to remind me that some of these things take time. Pulling at one loop may disturb another, and may get me closer to resolution or I may be forced to backtrack and try something else. I was almost sad to finish working the knot as it meant I was no longer in the process of resolution. Upon detangling it, I didn't have a project, a measure of progress anymore.

To someone else, these connections may be silly or disinteresting, but to me, they're significant. I prefer it that way. And while I don't necessarily look forward to the next time I have to spend hours removing a knot from my knitting yarn, I'm now infused with just a little more confidence to tackle that task...and maybe a few others in the meantime.

peace

2010-01-02T02:53:00.000-08:00

I'm 23.

At 23, I realize I have a fair number of friends and acquaintances who are married or almost married. They have jobs and houses and really cute cats. And for a split second each time I'm reminded, I fight the feeling of being horribly unsettled. I'm a single girl with a really only a bedroom to call my own for now and a lot of socks that don't match.

Three of my closest friends are are scattered across the Western states, each of them with a grown-up job and an apartment and a couple of them with serious boyfriends. They have car payments and salaries and can eat cereal for breakfast, lunch, and dinner without someone so much as batting an eyelash. Sometimes, I envy that security, that freedom and that perceived independence.

And then I remember that I'm really exactly where I'm supposed to be. Because those freedoms come with a price I don't yet have to pay, literally and figuratively. Because I essentially work for my room and board, I can work short hours at my three OTHER jobs and not have to worry about making rent. My scrappy little Honda is paid for. My debt is minimal at best, and I can go on weekend climbing trips as often as my schedule and pocketbook will allow (which still isn't as often as I'd like). I make just enough to support the odd weekend at the dropzone, pay for most of my food so I don't eat my amazing “family” out of house and home, and get the few bills and expenses I do have out of the way.

At 23, sometimes I have the desire to be a little more settled (don't tell my mom or I'd totally ruin my free-spirit reputation that drives her crazy), to have a reason to browse used furniture for pieces to turn into projects or to experience the odd satisfaction in choosing matching barstools or curtains. I'm pretty normal--I sometimes want those things. But MORE than that, right now I love that I don't feel like I have to be anyone in particular just yet. I don't have to confront the reality that I might NOT be a expedition leader in the Himalayas or live as a writer in a studio apartment in the heart of New York City--two dreams that have occupied my focus for more than their fair share these last several years. I can enjoy being mismatched, and not just with regards to my socks.

On the best days, I feel like I could be anyone I'd like to be. On the not-so-good days, I consider that in all reality I may spend some time in a job I don't love but take because it's the best offer I've got. On most days, however, I remember that I'm an innately happy individual with a knack for being pretty content most anywhere. I try to keep this in mind especially on the days when I'm feeling pressure to decide who it is I want to be, or that I feel like I'm not meeting expectations, set either by me or someone else.

Of course, this all sounds very good on paper, er, on the screen, especially to an impulsive idealist like myself. And even though I eschew resolutions for the new year, I decided upon waking up today that I was going to make a few changes to the way I look at things. I've been so anxiety-ridden the last few months that I didn't realize what a toll it was taking on me. I feel badly for the folks who've been gracious enough to stand by on my angsty days and share each meltdown-du-jour. On my exceptionallly beautiful drive into town this morning, I couldn't help but smile, and about halfway there I found the words I was looking for.

I'd like to choose peace. To practice it, to seek it, to listen for it, and to encourage it. In myself, and in others. I've already got the enthusiasm thing down pretty solidly, so I think I'd be well served to learn to temper that just a little with some well-executed peace. By no means do I contend that I will tone down my energy, just learn to use it as constructively (emotionally, mentally, physically) as I can.

For my part, day one went pretty well, save for the fact that it's gulp, almost 3 a.m. er, pretty late. Ah well, tomorrow's Saturday. Plenty of time for catnaps.

Goodnight, dear friends! May your 2010 be full of blessings and hugs.

what home is not

2009-12-31T01:00:00.000-08:00

Last Christmas, as I pulled up to my apartment at the time after a week at my parents' spent celebrating and sprawling in front of the fire with a book for pretty much every waking moment, I remember surprising myself as the thought it's so good to be home flashed through my consciousness. I had lived away for about five years by that point, but had never really truly felt like my new life and space and world was totally mine. Truthfully, I felt kind of homeless, as my parents had been quick to convert my room to a guest room (which my brother promptly took over during his visits home from college) and stow my belongings and mementos in the attic. I'd been sleeping on the couch or sharing my sister's twin-size bed for a couple of years when I'd visit (actually, that's still how it goes, unless my brother isn't visiting). Arriving to my apartment last year and feeling like it was "home" was an unexpected reality.

And it wasn't that I minded feeling without home, as I had been eager to have my own space, unaware of the mental transition that would require. Like most nineteen-year-olds, I had been eager to have an apartment with roommates and a room of my own and the independence I expected from that. And that's mostly how it went. At what would have had to be Christmas 2007, I had arrived back after a short visit to my parents' to find our front door ajar and all of our belongings ransacked. Needless to say, I wasn't any too hesitant to want to be somewhere else for Christmas in 2008. Along the same lines, having had my car stolen a few times in the last few years only adds to my lack of connection to actual physical places and things.

This year, I managed about a five day visit for the holidays. I spent less time in front of the fire this time, something I now kind of wish I would have handled a little differently, but since I don't believe in regrets, pretend I didn't say that. Before that, I had been couch-hopping, more or less, for a few weeks, as I had taken a job housesitting and then gave up my room in my current living situation as a guest room for a few days (I'm a live-in nanny of sorts, so the family I live with had extended family coming to visit). I didn't realize until today how very soothing and refreshing and comforting it is to me to be in my own bed in my own space in my own rhythms. Last night was the first night I had been in my own bed in a few weeks, and I woke up feeling more like me than I have lately.

So this home thing. This place where I am now is home...for now. The actual physical location of my residence has changed a half dozen times in the last five years, so it's not so much the setting, I don't think. My favorite part about camping is setting up my tent and sorting out my belongings, and at the end of the day retiring to MY space. I prefer not to share a tent for this reason. As a child, I was most satisfied building forts or pretending boxes were castles, spending endless hours camped out on the lawn across from my brother's identical box. I don't even remember what we did other than that I relished the satisfaction of having my own corner of the world. In that corner, I don't have to be anything to anyone else, a pressure I realize I put on myself in the hubbub of daily activity. I guard that place and that time, and that feeling of home. I need a place where I'm not influenced by the opinions and expectations of others, however self-perceived they may be.

All this to say...today I was made aware of just how special my home is to me these days.

identity and listening

2009-12-28T02:30:00.000-08:00

As the year comes to a close, I feel like I should offer some profound, epically relevant and moving commentary on just how much these last twelve months have held for me, as a person and as a climber. In the same moment, I feel that trying to do that would just end up sounding trite and probably inadequately catalog just how full this year has been. I'll try anyways.

Sometimes, I am overwhelmed by the heady awareness of growth. This year, especially, I have been confronted with the stability of my own identity. As I've settled more and more into "me", whatever that actually means, I've been met with markedly more polarized reactions. I've decided (though I can't pinpoint when exactly) that I make no apologies for who and how I am. Does it mean I am static, decidedly without movement? Certainly not. It means I take each day for what it is, and that I seek out all the cracks and crevices and corners, trying not to categorize or stereotype or overanalyze but instead to just listen. I've spent far too many years of my relatively short life NOT listening to myself and not listening to what I need, to be mentally and physically and emotionally healthy. Sometimes, what I need is a good run around the block; other times, a few hours alone with a book; and, other times, a good conversation about faith and life over a tasty cup of tea. And in that listening, I feel better. I feel content.

And somehow, in the middle of all of this, I've become THAT girl...the one to whom people say "you're doing what the rest of us wish we could". This totally baffles me. Don't get me wrong, I'm flattered by such comments, but I'm no different. I'm no more, no less. I'm no braver, and certainly no better. Without sounding self-demeaning, I am normal. There's nothing particularly special about me. I have merely chosen to listen. When my chest gets tight at the thought of snowy mountain ranges and impossibly blue alpine skies, I just listen. I just enjoy that moment of my life, soaking it up and breathing it in.

Those moments have managed to arrange themselves into a series of sweet memories, of nostalgia-triggering adventures. I count myself duly blessed by the new friends I've had the privilege of meeting this year, many of them through Twitter and still others elsewhere. People like Rick (@RikRay) and Eileen (@rockgrrl), who ever so graciously included me on their Yosemite adventures this summer, teaching me not only to place cams and set anchors, but also to watch and trust and ask questions. To always ask questions. And Nina (@nsmonkeygirl), with whom I've shared many a comedic error (parking tickets, epic walk offs), or sweet Sara (@theclimbergirl), whose hug is like that of a friend you've known for decades. These warm people, among MANY others, have been central to my development as a climber and really, as a "grown up", whatever that means. My mom keeps telling me I am one, so I guess I had better figure out a way to define that in a way that works for me, right?

In what marks my first full year as a "climber", I've met many goals, both mentioned and unmentioned. I've been enveloped more fully in the outdoor community, feeling like I've finally figured out where I fit in the scheme of adulthood stereotypes.

This year, I started grad school, I quit my job, and I drastically changed my living situation. I went on my first interstate, for-the-hell-of-it solo trip involving trains and airplanes, and I learned to skydive. In all of that, I came to understand that a successful measure of time has nothing to do with how many minutes or hours or days or weeks are part of it, but how honestly and fully I live that time. I've been a student, a babysitter, a daughter, a success, a failure, an inspiration, a friend, and a convention. I've slept too little and talked too much.

Given that 2009 has been a self-percieved success, I hope for 2010 to hold just as much adventure and promise and potential. Mostly I just choose to wake up tomorrow and be in each moment as it comes, decidedly optimistic and characteristically stubborn. With that, good night and blessed dreams for your new year!

old musings on autumn days

2009-12-16T12:17:00.000-08:00

written 11/19/04

wrapped in the peace of a brisk afternoon
strides match the rhythm of a smooth melody
her quiet joy prevails against the piercing chill
every sense magnified
as the scent of autumn is haphazardly whispered
prompting a relentless desire for self-induced isolation
retreat from obligation

remembered I wrote this way back when and felt the same sentiments come rolling in on this gorgeous day.

beautiful moments

2009-12-11T00:27:00.001-08:00

When life gets busy I have a hard time holding on to my enthusiasm. I try and grasp it so tightly that it gets all distorted, and then I'm there wondering what happened and why I feel so tired and anxious. Note to self: it's okay to be those things sometimes.

I've been taking a lot of pictures of the sky lately, especially at my favorite intersection on days when I can see the newly-whitecapped Sierras. That intersection, the moments I spend there each day...countless times the entire tone of my day has been set there. Many times I've been stopped short of breath for a second when I wasn't expecting the simple-but-arresting beauty of a place I see literally on a daily basis. From that intersection, I've watched the seasons change. From there, I can link a series of days and moods and memories and processes...and that unplanned ritual calms my fiery nostalgic heart.

Sometimes it's the little things. Because those little things, that sweet subtle joy I get from that daily perspective is what primes my spirit for chest-catching landscapes and wanderlust-inducing photographs. Between all the big, this-is-why-I-climb/skydive/travel/move moments there has to be some beauty too. And there is.

changes a-brewin'

2009-10-26T22:52:00.000-07:00

Where to begin? These last couple of weeks have been a flurry of new things, and that's besides the usual hubbub of being a grad student! I can't tell you how many times I've jotted down a blog idea that I wanted to work through but when the day finally slowed down enough for me to sit at the computer I could hardly keep my eyes open!

Lots of new things have been taking place in my life, some personal and some less personal. I got a new job, which I'm terribly excited about. I'm still going to be transitioning into it for a couple months yet, and I'm a little nervous because it'll be replacing my main job that I've been at for nearly four years. I'll be sure to tell more as I know more, and probably even spotlight the facility in a future post...

Which brings me to my next order of business...I'm moving on over to Zherpa blogs to be part of their network, which means you won't see much here. I'm still going to keep this blog, and occasionally post more family/close-friend oriented blogs, but I will primarily be over at Zherpa henceforth. So, if you follow me, be sure to change up your links! Click here to be directly taken to that page. There is still some formatting to be done in the next couple days, so be patient...:) The transition is still a work in progress, but I promise to get on it.

Have been jumping quite a bit lately, even went up to Lodi for a few jumps, which was neat! This past weekend I hit 25 jumps, which is my first real milestone and with a few more objectives to knock out I can apply for my A license!

That about covers it...I hope you all have a wonderful week and a fun Halloween. Any really creative costumes planned?

sometimes you get what you came for

2009-10-12T21:18:00.000-07:00

My life seems to be least stressful not when I don't have things going on, but when I can organize what I do have going on into lists. I make lists on a daily basis. Sometimes I number the tasks, or I assign times or make lists within lists. If I'm worried, I list. If I'm bored, I list. I have been making packing lists since elementary school--for such things as sleepovers and trips to Grandma's house. I'm sure this indicates some kind of pathology, but for now let's just consider it a charming quirk.

So this alleged charming quirk came into play once again when packing for a trip up to Yosemite with a class from my university. As a class, we split into teams, and our objective for the weekend was to complete a digital scavenger hunt throughout the park. I had one teammate, Chelsea, and we decided our team uniform would be tie dyed t-shirts. I managed to save this little arts and crafts project for 2 a.m. the night before we left for the trip, nevermind that it was my first tie dye project to date. I was relatively pleased with the results, however, despite the fact that they didn't turn out exactly how I expected.

After a day at work that was sorely tainted with the knowledge that comes from being tortured by the awareness that your car is completely packed for an adventure, I picked Chelsea up at her apartment and we set off to meet our cabinmates at the supermarket. I informed her that unless she flat-out objected, we would be listening to at least three episodes of the Dirtbag Diaries on the way up to camp. Luckily, she obliged.

The ride up was uneventful if not boring, save for Fitz (@dirtbagdiaries) and his colleagues to every once in a while leave both Chelsea and me with goosebumps. There are some things that resonate deeply and unexpectedly, and I was glad to get to share that with Chelsea as well.

We arrived at Curry a little early, so we camped on the deck outside the Mountain Shop for a spell, where I notified Pang (@pangtastic) that we had arrived. He and I had tentatively planned to meet up because, well...why not? Twitter friends should be real friends too. Once he came over and Chelsea and our cabinmates realized I was going to park myself on the deck and talk climbing for a while, they went to grab a pizza for dinner.

After talking with Pang, I most certainly have a stronger interest in learning to ice climb. It's not something I have ever really aspired to learn, but the more I read about it and talk about it, the more I think “that could perhaps be on my radar sometime...it sounds promisingly miserable--right up my alley”. I have learned that I am much happier when bruised, cold, tired, and covered in camp dirt.

Eventually, we unpacked and our instructor came around to the (blech) tent cabins to give us our lists and mascots. Chelsea and I selected a small plastic lion we named Excelsior Lionel, and what a photogenic plastic feline he turned out to be. Our ambitious cabinmates decided to set out on a nighttime hike to the summit of Half Dome. We determined that wasn't for us this trip and instead donned our “uniforms” and removed our shoes for our own leg of the hunt. For whatever reason, we thought it would be a fun idea to do the whole scavenger hunt barefoot. Probably my idea, to be perfectly honest.

So, barefoot and clad in tie dye, plastic lion in tow, we managed to check a fair amount off our list. We visited the cemetery (at night!) and the post office and the dental office. The highlight of the evening was our high-speed gallivant through the Awahnee, where we surprisingly didn't get in trouble with any of the employees for our blatant disregard of socially acceptable ambulation speeds.

By now, spirits were riding high and we were just about convinced jumping in the Merced River in the dead of night was a good idea. All of the excitement and adrenaline came to a screeching halt when we accidentally took a wrong turn. Instead of turning into the proper entrance to the Camp 4 parking lot, I pulled in too early into a clearing. Realizing my mistake, I promptly pulled out, only to be met with flashing red and blue lights.

Now, despite what you may believe about me, I am absolutely terrified of getting in trouble. I have a knack for being in the wrong place in the wrong time, though, and have no talent whatsoever for arguing my way out of a ticket. I have never once been able to successfully do so. Apparently being cooperative and scared out of your mind does not incite police officers to be merciful.

So I got a citation. In a national park. For offroad traveling. I DRIVE A CIVIC. Talk about a buzzkill. Chelsea and I had no desire to keep on going that night, so we went back to the tent cabin to plan out the next day's agenda.

After only a few hours of sleep, the alarm I had set for 4 a.m. woke us and we groggily assembled our wits for the 45 minute drive up to Glacier point to see the sun rise. It was kind of cold, especially in bare feet and sweatpants, and I'm pretty sure the other early risers only had a moderate appreciation for my obnoxious sense of humor at that hour of the morning, judging by their responses to my probably-too-loud comments and observations.

It was pretty incredible to see the Valley transform as the sun rose behind Half Dome. Perhaps my favorite part of any day, especially a day outdoors, is the twilight just before the actual sunrise. It's so full of potential and anticipation, but in a way that I can count on. Each new day brings that new potential with each sunrise. It's anticipation, but with structure. I like that.

Despite rising early, our day didn't really kick off until about lunchtime. Once the sun rose, we drove on back down to camp for breakfast and coffee (which I require daily without excuse) and an evaluation of the day's plans, with an itemized to-do list so we could check off specific objectives. The day turned into mostly a series of silly faces and interesting conversations. Luckily, neither Chelsea nor I had any qualms about approaching strangers, and given the global appeal of the Yosemite Valley, there's quite a diverse population of strangers to choose from.

My “favorite experience of the day” is a toss-up between getting one move higher on Midnight Lightning (which is going to take me about a decade to send, seeing as I'm no V8 climber) and jumping into the (very cold!) Merced River in my jeans. By the end of the day, though, Chelsea and I were happily tired, and headed back to camp an hour early, where we met up with our instructor and his wife to shoot the breeze and eat some dinner.

Dinner turned into a marathon gab session as a few friends of mine stopped by our table throughout the evening. While we were sitting there, we found out that one of our class teams was still on Half Dome. This wouldn't have been a big deal, except for that they had begun the hike about 20 hours prior, had an injured/severely dehydrated team member, and were more than five miles from the trailhead. Quite a disaster. Our instructor left immediately as soon as he realized they would need some assistance getting down the trail. He made it up to them and managed a couple updates here and there when they got cellular service. Ultimately, they didn't get to the trailhead until approximately 24 hours after they had started their hike.

There is value in knowing your limits and preparing for achieving an objective. There is also value in testing those limits. If I was in a similar situation, when would I have quit? When would I have turned back and for what reason? If I was capable but a teammate wasn't, how would I have proceeded? Would I have been a leader, and if I was, would I have been a good one? While I was not immediately connected with this particular situation, it most certainly resonated with me. Thankfully, everyone made it down to camp okay, and in remarkably good spirits considering their ordeal.

The next morning, we slept in, which meant that we had to rush to pack up to make it to the Mariposa Grove by our 10 a.m. appointment. Chelsea and I had a hard time getting ourselves together and arrived about 30 minutes late. Thankfully, because of the excitement of the night before, we weren't the last to arrive nor did anyone mind that we were late.

Those trees are so...big. Looking at the sequoias in the grove, perceiving their mass and presence--you can't help but wish they could speak and tell their stories. Who has been there? What secrets have been told among those trees? When all the people have left, what remains--what sounds, what smells, what thoughts? It's places like that where I feel present, when I am at a definite point in the universe, where before collides with after.

I made it home in time for one quick jump at my dropzone, which seems to be how it goes these days. I'm too busy to come out for a whole day, so I end up squeezing in a jump or two on an afternoon when I should have been studying instead. But being at the dropzone and being part of that activity and that pace helps to make the rest of it--the massively busy balance of classes and work and home life--a little easier. There's nothing like 10,500 feet of perspective to help the rest of it all make sense.

not fearless

2009-09-15T23:01:00.000-07:00

“...being brave doesnt mean you're not afraid--it means overcoming your fear. I have learned that I want to live until I die.”

Fittingly enough, the above quote was the last line in an article in a skydiving magazine, but it articulates a sentiment that I can appreciate. There have been many times I've been absolutely frightened beyond what I thought I could handle, but just as many times I've gotten to experience the growth that comes with making a decision about that fear. I remember hiking the Mist Trail to Vernal Falls as a kid and having to deal with some serious fear--it was all I could do to put one foot in front of the other. One. Step. At. A. Time. Same thing the first time I did the cables on Half Dome (and second time, because apparently I like that sort of thing). Many moments while climbing--usually when I pause, or at an anchor--I have suddenly felt aware of my fear and had to choose to act despite being afraid.

And it's not some high I'm chasing. I experience no flood of overwhelming emotion when I reach an objective. I am glad when I reach my goals, but I appreciate the process as well. For this reason, I find that I rarely cry at what are supposed to be monumental events, like graduations and weddings. I've had time to consider the implications of failure and success and decide how I would like to respond.

On Sunday, I was frightened. I was inexplicably nervous the entire day I was at the dropzone. I am perhaps most fearful at takeoff, because it is the moment of commitment. Once that plane is in the air, I have a very finite amount of time to mentally prepare for the skydive. I always review the process of the jump, from exit to landing, multiple times until I can see myself doing it completely--much like sending a difficult bouldering problem. When I realize my body is tense, I have to take a deep breath and exhale all the nervous energy.

Skydiving for me has become very much a process of evaluating the possible outcomes of a decision and accepting any of those outcomes. If I'm doing a formation jump, we might not complete the formation. If I'm trying a new skill, I might not be able to do it right away. If my parachute malfunctions, I may have to deploy my reserve. If I don't flare correctly when landing my canopy, I might have a hard landing. And then there's the always the possibility of factors I don't anticipate, like a midair collision or a strange wind or a double malfunction (neither parachute does its job), any of which could seriously injure or kill me or another person. How do you wrap your head around being okay with those outcomes? Any of them?

I'm not fearless. I don't claim to have fear all figured out. But I'm glad it's there. Fear forces me to make decisions and to learn from their consequences. Frankly, I'm afraid of a lot, and on a daily basis. But I can't let that fear incapacitate me. I can't be so afraid to fail that I don't try. And learning to apply that principle to other aspects of my life--relationships, career goals--is a challenge I'd like to accept.

live it anyway

2009-09-03T17:57:00.000-07:00

I'm in a kayak. I'm not really sure exactly how this reference started, but it caught on some months ago with the climbing crew--especially the girls--I hang with. I'm sure that our Monday night pub excursions (complete with doorjamp pullup contests/initiations) definitely helped it along, as they became a place for us to defrag after a climbing session and as we learned to let our guards down with each other we learned to make light of our respective relationship statuses. We came up with an elaborate framework of boat-related references to describe all means of relationship status that still holds water (er, pardon the bad pun) to this day. A kayak, by our definition, indicates that the individual is happily single and on the prowl, but not for a significant other...but for adventure. And so I happily reside in my kayak these days.

In fact, I'd say I'm pretty darn happy most days. Which is why an occasional down day or series of down days can catch me by surprise and send me thinking. I'm more often inexorably happy than not. When I'm not...why is that?

Well, there's the idea that every action has an equal and opposite reaction...or something like that. Which means that when I am up in the stratosphere, excited as all-get-out, there is usually an equal and opposite downturn within a few days that sends me reeling and scrambling to self-medicate with more climbing and probably way too much coffee, and even sometimes solitude.

I've been pursuing all of these things in the last several months that I enjoy very much. I have been able to focus a lot of energy on climbing harder and better and learning to skydive, and I love having the mental and emotional freedom to do those things. It would be hard for me (I say for me, because others might find it easier than I do) to hasten after these pursuits were I not in my kayak, so to speak. And so, I'd venture to say that I've had the opportunity to learn a lot about myself lately.

I learned to say no. I've never been good at saying no, and now the conflict lies not in my ability to say it, but in my ability to not be agitated when I decide to say it. It took me having the opportunity to chase after goals that were uniquely and solely mine and recognizing that to give me a different perspective. I still struggle with “no” every time, but I have a sense of ownership of that decision that I didn't perceive before.

Infused with the cluelessness and persistent optimism of being a 20-something, still perhaps shedding some of the trappings of adolescence, there's a good deal of uncertainty that seems to linger on the periphery. That said, if nothing else, I've learned in the last several years that nothing is certain and that many of the expectations that I held for myself just a few years ago are mostly irrelevant. There's something to be said for figuring out how to hold dreams and then chase them with your whole heart. And no one really teaches you how to do that. One of the things I LOVE about being a counseling student is that my classes are full of people who refuse to stop dreaming...it's contagious.

I have no idea what I want to be when I grow up except a dreamer and doer. And since those aren't really all that tangible, I think it best to take it all one day at a time, living fully. And that means that some days I'll feel all full of vim and vigor (and maybe even a little “rawr”) and others I might need to spend some time on the downswing. I'm gonna have to be okay with that, and live it anyway.

The very basic core of a man's living spirit is his passion for adventure. The joy of life comes from our encounters with new experiences, and hence there is no greater joy than to have an endlessly changing horizon, for each day to have a new and different sun. -Christopher McCandless

it's all about perspective

2009-08-26T23:03:00.001-07:00

I've been meaning to blog since Sunday, but every time I sit down to do it the things I thought I wanted to write down just don't seem to form themselves into cohesive utterances. So...I think I'm just gonna roll with that and go a little more freeform on this one. How 'bout it?

Things I Like:

-riding bikes with friends
-having one of those moments where you just feel ALIVE
-freefall
-how Tiger Balm smells kinda like Christmas
-going to the movies by myself twice in a week
-seeing the people around me smile
-much-needed climbing crew reunions at the pub
-how pumped I get for school once classes actually start
-quesadillas
-diet dr. pepper with Sonic ice
-random texting with the bff from college
-birthday minutes
-planning trips to visit friends near and far
-being the kind of person who can get completely engrossed in a movie
-being the kind of person who can barely sit still
-lollipops
-spaghettios
-my favorite Tweeps, who constantly brighten my day
-having shower days and non-shower days
-being barefoot as much as possible
-my ceiling fan
-hanging out with kids
-random ~~dance~~ spazzout sessions at the climbing gym
-climbing!
-talking to my grandma on the phone
-talking to anyone in my family on the phone
-thinking about my amazing little sister
-talking about my amazing little sister
-my amazing little sister

I think that's a good start. For now at least! :)

notes from the backcountry

2009-08-19T00:26:00.001-07:00

It all started with a delicious pepperoni pizza. Now, the first time I hiked Half Dome, I indulged without incident in eating pizza & a pint pre-hike, so I thought this would be fine, especially considering that this hike in was only 3 miles and 3 fairly flat miles at that.

Wrong wrong wrong. Nothing about that tasty pizza settled and I spent the first two miles of the hike convinced my appendix was going to burst at any minute. We're not talking some nausea here. I quite literally almost cried with how much it hurt. (Not that I would cry. I don't cry. I make Chuck Norris cry.) Finally, it got a little better and my countenance shifted back to normal, which is really more like “excited puppy” and tends to freak a lot of people out.

Arriving at camp was fairly anticlimactic. We set up camp without incident and shortly therafter broke out our camp dishes for some grubbin'. Everyone stayed pretty close to camp and we got a good fire going in our pit. There was what I consider unnecessary haste in bear bagging our foodstuffs, but I'm not the boss. I went over to watch the bear bagging occur so that I could reverse the process in the morning as I am an early riser at camp. (Why this is not also true back home I don't know. Though I wish it were.) Before I knew it, I was the one rigging the bear bag, utilizing a couple of my favorite climbing knots to rig it up, much to the surprise of my male campmates.

We then returned to the campfire for more chatter with the neighboring campers. The conversation lasted until the fire died down to ember, and then we parted ways towards our respective sleeping arrangements.

As expected, I woke up absurdly early, forcing my body to sleep until at least 7. I won that battle, but just barely. I happily navigated down to water's edge to filter some breakfast water, then brewed myself some delicious coffee with my oatmeal. The only problem with this situation is that by the time everyone else is finally crawling out of their tents, I am fully caffeinated & probably singing nonsense songs. Not exactly the best way to make friends in the morning.

All things considered, the morning was quiet and lazy, as a Saturday morning should be. We didn't do much of anything until a group decided to head to the caves for a little bit of exploration. I stayed back, enjoying the rarity of a quiet camp. While the rest of the crew was gone, more of our party arrived on site & started setting up camp.

When everyone got back from 'sploring the caves, we donned our swimsuits for what was supposed to be a refreshing turn in the lake. Most everyone got in and some went fishing instead. I decided to give the cliff jumping a go. It is NOT fair that I am not allowed to be a little skittish about dropping 30 feet into water off a veritable cliff. “Why are you scared? You jump out of planes!” is not my favorite thing to hear as I'm trying to muster the cajones to hurl myself off said rock into said (cold) lake.

Nevertheless, I finally took the plunge and that was that. Once was enough, though. I scrambled back up the granite boulders to our campsite and promptly fell asleep on the rock behind our tent. After my little nap, I changed out of my wet swimsuit and into my climbing shoes, which had arrived just hours prior thanks to A, who had also hiked in my MadPad. We assembled a small group of would-be climbers to explore the boulders near camp, which mostly consisted of the dads and their kids and me. I inadvertently inserted the word “sketchball” into the vocabularies of the three kids (ages 9, 8, & 7) during our little climbing excursion. We didn't do anything super crazy, but definitely found a few fun problems to pump out on.

Everyone started trickling back towards camp as dinnertime loomed, and eventually we all found ourselves back at the campfire, hungry and tired and dirty. A discussion ensued over the superiority of certain freeze-dried meals over others, and I've decided that I'd rather have a pocketrocket over a jetboil, though both are pretty sassy compared to the Coleman my dad used to bring to camp when we were kids. I ate a dinner almost exclusively consisting of rice, which was slightly disappointing if not filling. You can't always win. And I like rice, so it works, I guess.

Following dinner, we sat around the campfire, stoking it with the sparse logs A was able to gather. I managed at one point during the evening to drop both my hat and headlamp actually IN to the fire, and pulled them out fairly intact save for the horrible burnt plastic smell that still lingers all over the hat. Good thing I had a 2nd one to wear to bed that night. We roasted marshmallows and played with sticks in the fire. I sent smoke signals on over to @theclimbergirl, but she says she didn't get them. So now my campmates think I'm nuts and @theclimbergirl didn't even get my message. Good thing I think she's rad anyways. :) Worth people thinking I'm extra nuts for sure.

Sunday I couldn't sleep past 6:15 and woke up just minutes before the sun peeked over the mountain across the lake. I pulled down the bear bag, enjoyed a quiet breakfast and a lazy morning as the rest of camp slowly rose to meet the day. I enjoyed a lovely conversation with the fellow at the next camp, and as we talked we realized we had attended the same wedding in my hometown back in 2001. Even the backcountry is a small world, I guess! We're now FB friends with plans to backpack again someday.

Come late morning, we started packing up camp for the hike out. I stubbornly volunteered to pack out my MadPad, a situation which required some creative rigging and extremely tentative balancing. It was figured out, though, and I managed to hike the three miles out with only four rest stops.

There was a much-needed pizza stop on the way out, where we washed our dirt-embedded hands in the restroom sink. Everyone else in the restaurant looked so clean! I dozed most of the two hours home, trying not to upset my slightly sunburnt face. Upon arriving home, I first jumped in the pool with the kids, then promptly unpacked, happily wrapping myself in the delicious aroma of camp as I prepared my laundry and sorted my gear and food out.

Now, with everything put away, I'm anxious for the next adventure! If everything goes as planned, I'll have at least one trip each month until November, which would be wonderful, and then next season will be here before we know it.

Love,
Katiebeth: Young Adventurer Extraordinaire (or something like that...)

P.S. I'd appreciate it if the power company would remove whatever cell tower was giving us reception up there. It's not real backcountry if I can Twitter! (and I haven't the willpower not to. I love my Tweeps too much.)

transparency

2009-08-12T01:20:00.001-07:00

The theme of transparency seems to be recurring in my life. And each time it pokes its little head out, I seem to learn something new. I can remember the first time I was really aware of the concept was in junior high school. I would get so frustrated with the flippancy with which people would use “how are you?” in conversation, and so I learned to make a point of smiling and making eye contact and asking questions because, well, I knew I liked it when people treated me that way so it made sense. I'm not saying I had this whole thing dialed by any means, but it's the earliest I can recall transparency being something I recognized in relationships.

I usually can read people pretty well, and have always had a hard time with difficult-to-read individuals and feeling comfortable with them. I think this has all to do with my deep-seated desire to be liked and appreciated because if I know how I am being reacted to and understood, I feel more comfortable. I have more control. (I'm really hoping this isn't some kind of pathology I don't know about...) Growing up I strove to achieve because it was the venue through which I received positive feedback. It was a priority for me to be appreciated that way because it was better than the alternative. (Just for the record, I was very much loved as a child and never doubted this.) It seemed like it was easy in our household to get noticed by doing something wrong, so I wanted to do right things.

And that translates kind of strangely through adolescence. It affected my faith in that I developed little patience for hypocrisy and definitely stirred up a tenderheartedness that has gotten me into trouble more than a few times. I've had to learn the hard way how to say no and how to rest, usually at the expense of those closest to me. They see all the ugly, all the times when I'm frustrated and tired and all my buttons have been pushed and I'm so drained I haven't the energy to be helpful to anyone.

So then comes college and with it the joys of self-discovery, identity formation and social networking websites. What a recipe. My undergrad years coincided rather disastrously with the advent of MySpace and Facebook. Not that it was a disaster for me, but that I think these things have contributed to a very unique generation of young adults. We have friends all over the world we've never met, and aren't even aware of the degree to which we manipulate our images via our respective social networking addictions. Now, having friends all over the world isn't all bad. In fact, I love Facebook and Twitter and use them on a regular basis. I love having friends accessible to me pretty much any time of the day.

And that's probably not so good.

It's not my friends' jobs to be available to affirm me or make me feel wanted when I want to feel wanted. It's not their responsibility to be on the other end of the phone always or respond to every text I send. So why in the world do we get so caught up in this delicate construct of relationship that's essentially built on “what I want you to know about me”? And in saying this I'm not arguing for total and complete transparency because that's a safety issue. (I grew up being told I would be murdered by anyone I told my name/age/location/favorite color to. Wait, maybe that last one was a Monty Python thing...anyways...)

And this whole issue resurfaced today in a conversation with a fellow blogger and very dear IRL friend. (Check out her site at www.whatmegmakes.com...her last post was a VERY sweet entry about yours truly that very nearly made me tear up!) She informed me that a blog we both follow was under some fire because of some choices the blogger made in the amount and type of information she chose to share through her blog. There were some lack of truths involved and frankly the whole situation kind of unsettled me. We can be so very interested in the type and amount of attention we receive via our cyberspace communities that we not only distort transparency but we lose the chance to develop it in our real lives.

Because I really shouldn't get upset when Twitter's down. It's a chance for me to focus on the people right in front of me, with no distractions. As much as I care for each and every person within my favorite little Twitter community, that must always be tempered by an even greater focus on the people around me. And an openness to reviewing each thing I say in cyberspace as a tiny fragment of who I am, aware of how I might be inadvertently manipulating how it might be perceived. I need a willingness to be called out, both here and in real life.

So, friends, if I ask nothing else of you, I ask that you never be hesitant to call me out. I want to be transparent through all aspects of communication, from conversation to text to Facebook to Twitter to gchat to good old-fashioned letters. :) For your sake and mine.

falling...with style

2009-08-10T09:52:00.000-07:00

In case you haven't already heard me say it, graduating from AFF is perhaps more exciting and more awesome than graduating from college. First of all, it's the opposite with regards to the “what do I do now?” feeling. When you graduate AFF, you know EXACTLY what to do...go skydive! The sky is your limit, literally. :)

Saturday I got a late start up to the dropzone which turned out to be okay since it was a pretty busy morning of tandems. For all the hours I spend there, most of them are spent chatting and doing handstands and talking about jumping with anyone and everyone. And packing, when there's packing to be done.

It's always fun when a big group comes out to the hangar to cheer on a friend or family member. There's so much excitement in the air. I think that it's easy to forget just how thrilling that first jump can be, and how from the perspective of most of the population, a tandem skydive is extreme. Even with as few jumps as I have, I find myself separating my experiences from theirs'...and while yes, it is different to BE a skydiver than it is to go for a ride on a tandem rig, we're all getting to do something exhilarating and fun and exciting. That never changes. So I try to be as welcoming and open and non-elitist as possible at all times. :)

Anyways, back to AFF. Mom runs our loads, fitting in the students and the up jumpers (the non-tandems) around the tandem loads so that everyone gets a chance to fly. She figures out who's coming up when, who needs to be where when, and lets us know when our load is going to be. If I've learned one thing from G, it's to always be ready--physically AND mentally--for a jump. Sometimes it's only five minute's notice to manifest for your load if we're busy or something opens up.

We reviewed the dive plan for level 7, and then found out that A would be my instructor instead of G. A was an instructor of mine a few levels ago but not since I dropped to one instructor, so I had never jumped without G. G reads me well. He knows I need the pressure put on me a little bit, but that I have a tendency to be tense because I'm a perfectionist. A is much more mellow, which I think worked out perfectly come jump time. I knew and G knew that my struggle with this dive would be to relax and be confident, something I think was easier for me--for whatever reason--with A. G taught me SO MUCH that I was ready for the jump, and so having A there who is more relaxed just set me up for a good jump. Plus I wanted to do G proud. :)

All during the ride to altitude, I consciously held on to positive feelings and positive thoughts, acknowledging my fear--both of jumping itself and of getting it all wrong--but deciding that I was going to have a great jump no matter what. The pressure was off in a way, because I felt more confident of my skills as a skydiver, so even if I tanked like a rockstar I'd just get to jump again. Which is NEVER all bad. Who doesn't want more time in the sky?

The exit was great and I had no problems stabilizing. I launched into a backflip and recovered pretty well, if not a little flat. But I caught A's eyes, who motioned for me to arch harder which I did. Then it was time for turns, one in each direction, followed by a forward track, which I seem to be getting the hang of a little better. Wave off and pull and I knew so long as I didn't tank my landing pattern that it was a successful dive and I'd get to move on.

I have a terrible habit of ending up waaaaaaaay far away from the hangar and having to pretty much hike back across the field. More embarassing than anything else and it's definitely a matter of learning the altitudes for a pattern and manipulating the canopy for a good solid landing. Because if everything else goes wrong on a skydive, you really want the landing to be successful, right?

I took a short break and then almost immediately got ready for my last student jump, called a hop-n-pop. A hop-n-pop is when you exit at the altitude at which you'd usually wave off and pull to inflate your canopy, which is exactly what you do. They drop you at 4500 feet and you immediately stabilize and pull. It's to practice for an emergency exit. Mine went fine. G said it'd be scary, but I didn't find it particularly scary--I knew what I needed to do and I did it.

Since everyone else on the load was going to altitude, I got down a lot sooner than they did and started packing my canopy. As soon as A got down and confirmed the pass with D, D announced to the hangar that there was a new skydiver--me! I was immediately dogpiled on and hugged and congratulated profusely. Finishing the pack job was probably a good way for me to equalize a little before leaving (early--I had a baby shower to get to!). I view packing like I view belaying--a little bit boring, entirely necessary, and wonderfully therapeutic. It's physical, so I am moving, and it requires my attention, but I have a little bit of mental space to think and process as I pack. I love that.

I hugged my new “family” before I left, and as I got in the car to leave I literally had goosebumps I was so terribly excited. I didn't call my regular family or friends for the first few minutes of the drive. I wanted to settle into the reality on my own, and frankly, you could have told me I was nuts or silly or stupid or anything and I wouldn't have cared. I wanted to enjoy the feeling of accomplishing that goal as something that I had singularly fought for and desired and reached. Not to make anyone else happy--for once. :) And that's special to me.

I went to the baby shower (for a dear friend I haven't seen since her wedding last year!) and later hung out with J, S & R. We slacklined and went swimming and tried to learn to juggle in the dark. I got home a little after midnight and veritably crashed. Falling asleep as soon as I hit the pillow has not been a problem for me lately, that's for sure.

Sunday morning I got up and went to church (late) and taught my class (I have the three-year-olds...and they were all boys today) then headed out to the dropzone kind of on a whim. I should have stayed in town for a rehearsal, but I took a bye and called to make sure I could get on a load. As soon as I got up to the hangar, D was already rigging up a canopy for me to jump. I packed it in the quiet hangar and waited for my friends to drop out of the sky.

Once they were down we had a little bit of time to organize our load with who was doing what. It was decided we'd do a tracking dive--something pretty simple and fun for a first solo jump for me, especially on an unfamiliar rig.

I felt familiarly nervous as we climbed to altitude, but this time it had much less to do with how I'd perform and all to do with just getting on top of the power curve and being in control of my dive. The jump went pretty well, save for the fact that I tracked with the wind...which, since it was not particularly windy was okay, but could have put us too far south. Ah, well. It worked out fine. I was aware of the other jumpers flying beside me and it was really really really really really cool to just get to FLY with them. I think it was the first time I've smiled in freefall. We were close to each other, able to make eye contact. We flew. Like birds. Sigh.

The canopy I was flying was considerably smaller than the gigantic student rigs I've been flying and so it was a lot more dynamic especially with turns. I tried to get a good feel for the canopy well before it was time to set up for the landing pattern. The landing went all right, save for the fact that I landed a liiiiittle too hard, but still ran it out and stood it up. I might be a little stiff for a couple days, but no biggie. It's those last few feet of altitude that'll make all the difference, you know? It's all part of learning.

And the day just got better. I set the canopy up for the pack job and then went to pay D for the jump (not being a student is SO much cheaper!). He informed me that not only was he planning to just give me the main I had just jumped (was S's old canopy--a 170 square foot main) but that A (one of the pilots who also jumps) wanted to give me her container/harness and reserve. And I get to use her automatic activation device until her new rig comes in. I could have cried, if I was a crier. I was literally given an entire functioning rig. Now my expenses are going to be much more manageable--things like a jumpsuit and a helmet and goggles and altimeter. Expensive, still, but hey, I have a birthday coming up...*wink wink, nudge nudge*

I'm still totally flabbergasted by their generosity--they have no idea how much they have just blessed me, almost a stranger considering how long I've been jumping. So that brings my grand total to 10 jumps counting my tandem back in May...I think I can make 25 for an A license by my birthday in November, right?

It was a good weekend and I'm a little bit sad to be missing all next weekend since I'm going backpacking (for the first time!) but then school will start and schedules will change and it's only two weeks until my next free weekend...I promise not to wait that long to blog, even if it's just about ponies or dinosaurs or sharks or...please, leave a comment about your weekend or direct me to your blog if I don't read already! I'd love to hear about others' adventures. :)

Blue skies!

on living at the hilt

2009-08-05T23:45:00.000-07:00

Some days I want to hide under my covers. I don't want to get up, I don't want to be responsible or punctual or even brush my teeth. I want to close my eyes and cover my ears and sometimes I even could go for a hug.

I often get caught up in my own hurricane of a personality before I realize what's happening. I end up feeling pulled in sixty-seven different directions, and in those moments all I want to do is go climb. Climbing settles me because no matter how in a tizzy I am when I start, I have to set that aside. Skydiving is proving to be the same. I am forced to focus and forced to physically process any stress or tension or conflict. All the things I have to do and be and say are irrelevant for those minutes. Climbing and jumping play on my tendency to hyperfocus and to be lost completely in whatever demands the most attention from me. I haven't decided yet whether that's good or bad.

So frequently I get drained by how much I care and how much I want to make other people happy. I will never be able to shake completely that drive...it's a part of who I am. I genuinely enjoy seeing others fulfilled & loved. It heartens me to know that the people around me are cared for. This can come at an expense, which I willingly accept. Eventually, though it comes around to me feeling selfish when I pursue the things I want to do. I know this is silly, but I'm hardwired that way. To convince myself that it's okay to want to be alone and to say no takes all I can muster sometimes! And when people try to tell me these things, it's even more frustrating. I KNOW I'm busy. I KNOW I don't have to say yes. I KNOW it's okay to rest. I get it. I don't need to be admonished in that regard, thanks.

And right now there's a lot of things that are vying for my attention--hence the wanting to hide under the covers. So many forms and projects and tasks that don't have a set time to be done, so they just loom over the periphery of everything else, threatening to send me into a panic attack when I think on them too much. My initiative wanes, because I'm exhausted before I even start. That said, I'm certainly not living in a cloud of distress, but I have my moments.

So when people ask why I do what I do for fun, I don't have a great answer. I do those things because they can match the intensity and fervor with which I process the rest of life. They seem to fit. And those things can be an escape, a place to explore my fears and limits, but eventually the ground comes quickly and I have to plant my legs, shinsplints and all, on some solid ground so I can step purposefully toward the next moment. Because even if I'm not sure where I'm going, I want to get there on purpose.

doubt

2009-08-02T23:30:00.001-07:00

My family came by the dropzone today. They were headed up the state, I had a rig to pack (S leaves the student canopies for me to pack so I can learn how to do it) and a free afternoon so it worked out.

Funny thing was, that "feeling" I've started to have since I started taking climbing more seriously was at an all-time high. Since this is an unfamiliar thing for me to experience, I don't know if it crosses over and is just part of the whole "growing up" thing or not. I've spent a good part of my life doing as I was told, looking for approval and achieving what I was "supposed to". It's something I struggle with always, but am learning gradually to let go of.

I'm going to go ahead and make climbing the scapegoat here, since climbing is sort of what got everything going--led to slacklining and eventually I'd say even skydiving. The attitudes I developed, the confidence, the way I fit with these activities in a way I'd never fit with other sports. The people I met--a veritable smorgasboard of smart, warm, adventurous individuals that I have loved spending time with.

And the more I become the person I am most comfortable being, the me that I like the most, the more I realize that's not so much what I had in mind, and perhaps not even what was expected of me. And that's a harsh reality, because in my mind "smart kids" like me don't struggle with this, they just get through school, get a respectable "smart kid" job, and everything is sunshine and butterflies.

How is it that I am engaged in a daily battle where some days I'm so happy I'm beside myself and ready to take the world by storm and other days I'm petrified that I am merely scratching an itch and eventually these passions will fade away and then I'll be a shoulda-coulda-woulda who used to have potential? I understand that it is all a balance (which is sometimes a difficult concept for my stubborn mind to wrap itself around) and that everything has an ebb and flow.

And right now, I'm okay with that. So long as at the end of the day I know that I gave it my all, I'll be just fine. It's just hard when a family is as tight knit as mine is and I feel absolutely on the fringe, like I'm not on the grid where I can even relate these things and what they mean to me.

So then skydiving and climbing become something bigger. Something uniquely defining and not just in the way that people look at you and go "you're crazy" or "you're hardcore" or "what's with all the extreme sports?", but in the way that I feel like I am pursuing things that make me terribly happy. And experiencing that doubt just becomes part of the whole thing...knowing that I am the one making choices and having to own them.

more learning to fly

2009-08-02T01:41:00.000-07:00

Confession: I am a control freak with performance anxiety. I like to know what's going on and how to respond to it and how everything works and...well, you get the idea.

Jumped levels 5 and 6 today, and packed four rigs. (Two student rigs, an under-100 and G's wingsuit rig...more later on all that). I was on my way to the dropzone immediately after breakfast and didn't pull in the driveway until after 11 p.m. I arrived at around 10 a.m. and took it easy for a couple hours, watching S pack and trying my best to get into some calculated mischief. We went out to catch a couple of tandems and I managed to get munched on by our friendly neighborhood mosquitoes (they LOVE me) before it clicked why people always talk about their skydiving stuff smelling like Deet. The skeeters come out in full force in the nice green tandem landing area. They leave the student landing area alone cause it's dry and full of pokeys.

Anyways. On level 5, I had to learn to be much more stable in my turns and turn all the way around instead of only a 180 like in level 4. After said jump, I packed the 300 square foot student canopy (which I did NOT fly...waaaaaay too big) with some assistance. Let me tell you, I understand now why skydivers can sometimes--how to put this--have a “mouth” on them. Getting that thing situated with all of its risers (the cords that connect everything) and material and keeping it neat and organized and getting it stuffed into that tiiiiiiiiiny little bag is enough to elicit some choice verbage, that's for sure. A couple of times I had to up and walk away from pack jobs because I was letting my frustration get the better of me. I would calm down and come back later to finish up. I then packed my own student rig.

Somewhere in there, I packed J's rig, which is less than 100 square feet. Smaller square footage = more dynamic performance. It was definitely a change from the gigantic student rigs, that's for sure. Then G grabbed me to discuss level 6's skydive--back layouts and tracking AND a solo exit, meaning I let go of the plane without any instructor assistance, stabilize, and fly. For the whole jump, G doesn't touch me unless I'm going to kill myself. Also I got to try my hand at spotting and having an instructor on my left instead of my right as he has been for all other jumps. Spotting is using landmarks to identify and decide on where the door opens and when the pilot cuts the engine so we can jump out. Of course I managed to screw up that part a little, but that's kind of the point...making mistakes and learning. I put us a little too west, but we were able to get back to the landing zone just fine. G is very good about letting me screw up only insofar as I don't endanger anyone, which gives me a lot of opportunities for learning. Which I am doing plenty of.

The layouts are exactly what they sound like they are--flips--and tracking is flying forward very quickly by flattening out your body. It allows you to move laterally in a given direction. I got into the layouts easy, but had trouble stopping the movement and ended up for the first time losing control in freefall. It sounds scary, but it's really not that bad. It's just a matter of responding to the situation, getting back IN control of your body, and staying where you are so you can do what you need to do. What a great lesson for me, both as a skydiver and a person.

As for the tracking, I was a little funky with my arms for the first go at it, but after I took a break and tried again, it was FUN and came much easier. I didn't monitor my altitude perfectly and pulled a little low, but my opening and landing were fine.

After that, G briefed me on how the jump went and we talked about level 7 which frankly scares the bejeezus out of me. It is a solo jump that combines everything I've been learning. I'm kind of glad I know the flow now so I can visualize and build confidence over the course of the week. I've learned that I am adept at responding to situations but that I suck when it comes to being on the power curve, making the decisions. And I need to figure that out for this jump.

I stayed around to watch G fly his wingsuit so I could watch his canopy deploy since I had packed it last weekend. It worked--he had threatened me with my AFF if he had to cutaway, which he didn't, so I get to keep jumping. In fact, he handed it to me to pack it a second time. It was all I could do to finish that pack job, as I was starting to crash, and bad. I perked up with an Anchor Steam and a lap around the hangar, as well as some vaguely dangerous antics like scaling the hangar door and the like. We all stood around until heading out, this time after dark. We (the young generation of jumpers) met up at our “clubhouse”--J's apartment--where we ate pizza and watched The Sharp End. I doubt I'll ever get tired of that movie.

I'm trying to temper my enthusiasm a bit since I'm pretty sure everyone I know is tired of me talking about skydiving. I can't make any promises, though...so far I'm pretty well hooked. Anyone else wanna try it?

jump, you say? how high? how about 10,500?

2009-07-28T01:04:00.000-07:00

There's something about hanging out at the dropzone from before when my coffee even kicks in until the hunger pains that signal dinnertime that makes it hard to return to everything else. There's a rhythm there that is easy to settle into, and an energy that makes it difficult to leave.

I went up early Sunday morning knowing I was going to spend all day, and spend all day I did. We were set with upwards of a dozen tandems, which means that our little Cessna 182 gets a workout. Also the main packer gets a workout, but that's another story. :) Packing tandems will get you strong and VERY good at sleeping bag and tent packing. Heck, packing canopies at all will get you good at those things.

Midmorning I had a lovely talk laying under the non-running plane in the back with one of the instructors. We talked about life and work and jumping and relationships and family, and I only got up once it started to ache to be in the same place for so long. Some hullaballo commenced, mostly headstands and dangerous maneuvers of that sort, chatting a little with the occasional talkative tandem. I like talking to tandems because it wasn't that long ago I was there.

I have an appreciation for the rhythm of the loads, because it seems to fall right into how I prefer my attention be broken up. It takes about 20 minutes to complete a cycle, which factors in the climb up to altitude, the jump & then flying a canopy down to the ground. I'm pretty consistently able to focus on an activity in about 20-minute chunks. Works out nicely, don't you think?

Come about 2 or 3 in the afternoon we were able to figure out how I'd fit my jumps. The tandems were all gone for the day and then it was time for AFF jumpers (of whom there were two--me and one other) and up jumpers to get some altitude. The other student would do his level 4, then I'd do my level 3 and if that went well I could do my level 4.

Level 3 is a stability jump. The idea is by this point you're supposed to be learning to control your body on your own in freefall, and for this level you essentially just have to hold steady without anyone holding onto you. It can go really well or it can be where you get stuck repeating a level. If you pass, you graduate to one instructor instead of two. On all the other levels, you have a myriad of objectives to complete, a series of sequences, but on this jump it's all about preventing turns or bobbles or wiggles. Which is harder than it sounds! A knee dropped by an inch is all it takes to throw off your entire body and send you turning! But bodies are cool things because if you let them do what they're supposed to and stop THINKING so hard, they figure it out. You just DO it. You know, like Nike.

So somehow my body figured out how to skydive in there somewhere and while it was nowhere near a perfect jump, it was a great jump and I learned a LOT about flying. Then it was time for level 4, at which you learn to turn and fly forward to dock (read: connect) with your instructor. My level 4 jump was also a fun load because I got to go up with two of my favorite jumpers! We're kind of the “new generation” at our dz, so it's fun to hang out with them. I took them climbing last week which was a total blast. S is currently the only other girl on the dz, so I like spending time with her. We'll have a couple more come fall, which'll be good too! J was the other jumper on my load, and he took video. I was worried about being distracted, but because of the nature of the dive I didn't even really notice him. And it was nice to have the video to review on the ground later. (No, I didn't keep it. What for?)

On the level 4 I completely screwed up one of the turns but I learned from it and figured it out for the second one. It's really insane what you can learn in 30 seconds of freefall, and how many hours of contemplation it feeds in the days following. I literally woke up this morning and involuntarily my brain switched to skydiving. From the exit to the landing pattern it's all a learning experience in which you can be nowhere else. I can't fit in my brain thoughts of anything BUT the immediate moment while jumping. And I like that.

I got to go off-radio (you wear a 2-way for under canopy until your instructor decides you don't need it I guess) for jump 4, which was a little nervy. But really, I didn't need it. At that point I had shown I could safely--not perfectly--land a parachute and understand what I was doing. I dread the day I have any kind of malfunction and have to troubleshoot, but that's part of it, and I'll take that risk.

After the last jump I watched S pack a student rig and my instructor offered to let me finish packing his wingsuit rig. Um, no pressure right? It's not like he'd like to keep his almost-20-years-without-a-cutaway record. I finished the pack job with HEAVY supervision. I like packing though. I like the idea of having an understanding and control of more variables of the jump.

After the last load of the day we packed up and headed out to eat Mexican food...yum. And for one of the first times in my life I wan't the only goofy one at the table, willing to be silly and loud and imaginative and happy. I have yet to meet a skydiver with a pervasively negative disposition. Yes, people get frustrated at the dz. Bad jumps happen, whatever. But at the end of the day, we jumped. We lived and played and learned.

And I am learning so much about myself...what motivates me, what worries me, what teaches me. I leave the dz at the end of the day WORKED. I wake up the next day WORKED (I swear it, skydiving is great for the thigh/butt/lower back muscles). My poor bank account even gets worked. :) I love it all, though. It's funny, I have a hard time spending time with groups of friends who aren't jumpers after being with jumpers all day. I can't settle. I feel out of place and simultaneously exhausted and revved up.

The funny thing is, I get the feeling that from the outside looking in, the perception of all of this is an amalgamation of people thinking I'm nuts and being inspired, two things I didn't anticipate. For ONCE I have chosen activities that make me unspeakably excited and happy and I have a hard time caring what someone else thinks. Yeah, skydiving sounds all well and good and everyone wants to do the quintessential tandem dive on their “To Do Before I Die” list but if you do it over and over? People think you've got a screw loose. Maybe I have got a screw loose, but that's besides the point. I'm still a baby skydiver anyways. Still just a student. Maybe I'll have more to say when I've got more jumps, but by then you'll all be tired of my rambling about jumping anyways. :)

Suffice it to say, I really love to jump. It scares the bejeezus out of me but it is uniquely wonderful. I can't wait for the next one.

there's no such thing as a perfectly good airplane

2009-07-20T14:12:00.000-07:00

Can you find me in the photo?

Couldn't keep myself outta the sky. I decided to head on up to the dropzone for AFF Level 2 on Saturday afternoon. I dragged my ever-so-patient "person" (Grey's Anatomy reference) up with me. I can count on my hand the people I could bring anywhere (because they can blaze their own friendships and be comfortable in any new place without needing me by their side the whole time) and she's one of them.

It already feels like a little family there for me. Hugs, hellos, more hugs...I could get used to that. I had called on my way to the dz, and my instructor had answered, saying they'd figure out a way to fit me in around the multiple tandems scheduled for the afternoon. Helps to be a favorite student. ;)

Now, before I launch into much else, I'll have you know that the temperature, by my measurements, was approximately oh, seventy-eleven-billion-and-a-half. Hot by anyone's standards. So any kind of activity is pretty much miserable. Solution: get up to 10,500. It's a little cooler up there.

This lesson was muuuuuuuuch shorter, and consisted of learning some turns and how to fly forward in freefall. To turn, you look over a shoulder and tilt your upper torso ever so slightly, and then recover the turn. To fly forward, arms go back a little, legs straighten, and then you're like superman! Conceptually, I understood, and after some practice on the ground I was ready for some altitude.

We ended up having to wait a while for space on a load, since our little plane only holds four besides the pilot, and until level 4, I have to fly with two instructors. I think we finally suited up around 3 and let me tell you that putting on that jumpsuit in 100+ degree heat was vaguely unpleasant. Add 40 lbs of student rig, and you not only look like a ninja turtle (I flew in Green Bean, the lucky green jumpsuit) but you feel kinda weighed down.

Greg showed me how to do a gear check, and then let me put on my rig myself. Soon enough, it was go time.

We climbed onto the little Cessna and started the ascent to altitude. It takes about 20 minutes to climb to 10,500, so there's plenty of time to visualize everything, and plenty of time to get nervous. The first time, you don't know exactly what to expect, but the second time you remember. And it's kinda scarier!

Greg made me review everything for him, from the exit to the landing, and we practiced hand signals. At altitude, we climbed out (Dave was on my left...he hadn't been on my Level 1 and he's the dz owner, so I wanted to do well...). Hotel check, prop, up, down, arch thousand two thousand three thousand...

And this time I found the horizon pretty easily, checked my altitude, did a quick practice touch and started my turns. Right turn: textbook. So unexpectedly textbook that I didn't feel like I did anything. Left turn: botched. Tried to think about it and ended up totally screwing it up, the realization of which made me lose my arch a little. No bueno. Checked altitude and had enough time to try flying forward, which was pretty easy. Checked altitude again, and...pull time.

Pulled, turn right, turn left, flare...all was in working order. I found my play area and stayed there, then went in for my landing pattern, which I had a little more trouble with than last time and almost ended up short. I flared (braked) about eight feet too high, but still managed to stand it up. Woo-hoo!!

Sarah came out and helped me gather my canopy, and we went on back to the hangar. Greg and I debriefed, and he actually made me feel a little better about the whole dive. I definitely fixated on that left turn waaaaaay too much, so it was good to see it all a little more objectively. And I passed, which means I get to move on to level 3.

Skydiving is teaching me to control anxiousness in light of ambition, something I definitely could use practice in. I want to fly by myself. I want to wingsuit someday. I want to fly more and more and more. But I have to be patient, and I have to pace myself and focus on where I am right now. This minute, this place, this day.

explanation of why I have been so tired this week...

2009-07-17T14:54:00.000-07:00

Part 1: Learning to Fly Solo

My first day of jump school (which refers to the many hours you have to spend with an instructor learning the basics of skydiving) was many hours long. I woke up bright and early to make my 8 a.m. appointment at the dropzone—which is 40+ minutes away—and was still a little late. No harm done, as my instructor pulled up ten minutes after I did.
We got going right away, and Greg (the instructor) wasted no time.

“Why do you want to skydive?” he asked me straightaway. My answer essentially came down to the fact that up there in the sky, I can only be there and nowhere else, and that is a realization I LOVE. I live a noisy, busy life, and so the places where I can pare that down to only the moment (climbing, jumping) are precious to me.

We then watched a short video, talked some more, and then stepped outside to start learning exit procedures (i.e. “what you do when it’s time to get out of the darn plane”). Over and over we practiced, adding more and more steps until it was all I could do to remember my own name. I walked around all day throwing my arms up and around like a crazy person, mouthing my sequence to make it second nature. I must have looked a sight.

All day was one-on-one, so I had plenty of opportunity to work through my fears and doubts and mistakes before hitting the skies. The hardest part for me was learning to keep going when I messed up. My perfectionist tendencies, which I’d like to think are pretty mild, came out in full force as I’d stop and hesitate upon realizing a mistake. This was something I had to get over—and fast. There is no room for hesitating up there, just identifying mistakes and fixing them. What a great lesson for me…

I was given about twenty minutes to myself pre-jump to practice/eat/settle my nerves. I did a couple sun salutations and a few more mock exits, and then it was time. Come jump time, we suited up (my jumpsuit was a lovely pink…that tidbit was for you, @unredacted & @cupcakemafia) and climbed in the little bitty plane.

I was NERVOUS. This was it. I kept meeting Greg’s eyes looking for something that would help settle me down, and he offered quite a bit of confidence in me, which helped. My other jumpmaster, Aldo, who I’d exchanged quips with throughout the day expressed confidence as well. We practiced some hand signals, took some deep breaths, and soon enough we were at altitude.

The door opened and we climbed out.

Check in. Check out. Prop. Up, down (let go)…arch thousand, two thousand, three thousand…and we’re flying. Flanked on either side, I easily found a good body position and started practice touches (reaching behind me to touch my parachute’s pull cord), checking altitudes until 5500. The wave off (a process by which I announce my intentions to pull my cord and open my canopy) and…it all slows down. Suddenly I’m by myself, surrounded by silent air five thousand feet up with just radio contact to keep me company.

I followed the directions given me from the ground, turning and stopping when asked, and pretty easily located my “play area” and landing zone. I played (“hey Katie, pull right—HARD…okay okay, stop the spin…”—which later I would find out solidified my already developing reputation for being a “try anything”-type, given that I felt comfortable with it) and the landing went allllllmost perfectly. I turned at all the prescribed altitudes, then flared at exactly the right height…touched down…surfed the field for a second…and ate it. Darn if I couldn’t walk it out and stand up that blasted landing.

I could tell it went well as soon as Greg came out to help me gather my canopy. He met me with a hug and congratulations and perhaps the greatest compliment of the day (from a self-described “hard-ass”): that was the best first jump I’ve seen in at least two years. I was shaking with all the excitement and smiling from one ear on up to the other. We walked on in to the hangar and debriefed. We talked about what went well and what went okay and decided my strength was in freefall, where I’d experienced hardly a wobble, and that my canopy work wasn’t too bad either. There were definitely a few improvements to be made, though. (Next jump!)

I was instructed first to leave my jumpsuit on the couch, but then Greg changed his mind, saying “nevermind that! you’re one of us…go hang it up!”. I was flattered, and probably retorted back with some snarky comment as I walked over to the closet. I sat down with Aldo and had a good long talk about why he jumps and why I want to. What a wonderful teddy-bear/kind-uncle of a person. Just good good good feelings from/about him.

I spent a little more time socializing, then headed home to watch the kids for the rest of the evening—and let me tell you, I was so tired come then I could barely stand up. I can’t wait to go back for level two…maybe this weekend or next?

Part 2: Climbing in Yosemite (or On Becoming a Trad Girl)

Without missing a beat (I did, however, miss more sleep than I should have) I got up well before the sun on Sunday for the drive up to Yosemite to meet @RikRay for my first day of trad climbing (wiki: http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Traditional_climbing). I had been up far too late the night before making a list of what to pack for the two-day climbing trip, laying it all out on a towel in the hallway, and finishing laundry. Thusly, I started the day tired. However, as any climbing day (or rather, ANY day, for that matter) requires coffee or its derivatives to begin properly, I felt much better after caffeinating and fueling. I filled my tank, bought some groceries, and set off for the Valley.
The drive up was pleasant, and I made sure to call my parents just to let them know I was going to be gallivanting around a few hundred feet up off the beaten path and that I’d check in in a couple of days.

Upon arriving in the Valley, I promptly got lost (which only happened because I felt comfortable enough with the place to not look up directions for our meetup point) and was 40 minutes late meeting @RikRay. Thankfully, he turned out to be exceptionally forgiving and unconcerned. Pretty much immediately we set off for the base of Manure Pile Buttress to head up After Six, a six-pitch trad climb and my first time climbing either multiple pitches OR trad. I asked the usual multitude of questions and we roped up. I followed, cleaning (or “pulling out”) gear (or “those funny-looking things climbers stick in the cracks in the rock”), managing to drop one and only one piece, and on the first pitch.

The whole climb took only a couple hours, even as slow as we were moving, stopping to talk about all aspects of the climb. I had a lot of time to myself while climbing (and well-within my ability as far as difficulty) to think about my fear of exposure and heights and deal with that. I think that primarily gym climbers have to deal moreso with the transition to trusting gear and rope—something you learn through experience if you start and spend a lot of time outside. Indoors, I climb a pretty consistent 5.10, but outdoors I got all kinds of sketched out on even 5.7 and I didn’t even lead! (Didn’t let on too much, did I @RikRay?)

We scrambled the descent talking about our fellow twitter friends and their blogs, and decided upon reaching the base that we’d take a break as it would soon be the hottest part of the day. We made our way over to the El Cap meadow and bridge, where we met Holly. Holly had taken a nasty beating on the second pitch of her latest El Cap experience and two-and-a-half weeks later still looked like hell. But smiling and willing to talk about El Cap with any and every person who stopped to look through the telescopes at the climbers on the wall.

@RikRay and I then headed for Jamcrack, where he led one last pitch and I followed. Had we had more daylight, I would have likely tried to lead it, but as it was we were able to set up a toprope on Bummer and Bum Fingers, both 5.10s! I fell a couple times but fought my way up the cuticle chewing finger crack, feeling pretty good about the day.

After that, we drove back over to my car out at the bridge, bid our farewells and I headed off for Tuolumne to meet up with @rockgrrl and her posse of climber friends. The drive (I had never been to Tuolumne!) was pleasantly gorgeous and I managed not to get lost this time, arriving just after sunset to welcoming hugs and a warm fire, plus some dinner on top of that! I got situated and soon another friend pulled up. The four of us (me, @rockgrrl, Jamie, & Peter) set up a night slackline which none of us did well on and stayed up late talking about our climbing histories and the next day’s plans.

I slept moderately well, getting particularly cold just before sunrise. I managed to doze until just after 7, when @rockgrrl woke up and we talked before extracting ourselves from the little two-person tent she graciously shared with me. Oatmeal ensued, complete with bananas and, in my case, coffee. Then it was time to assemble ourselves to head to Medlicott Dome.

We found our way to the dome, after a 45-minute detour at the wrong trailhead before we realized the approach was FAR easier than the guidebook had noted. True to the book, the actual approach was terrible and tested my capacity both to withstand incessant mosquitos and to fend off an asthma attack. I stopped often, making sure I could get a full breath before continuing. The last thing I needed, as the new climber on this trip, was to have an issue with breathing and worry everyone and cause a hullaballo.

FINALLY we arrived at the base of D’oh, where we assembled the necessary gear. The boys took more, since they were headed up three pitches and us girls would only do one and then toprope some nearby climbs. The boys set off and @rockgrrl and I waited, talking more about twitter and climbing and really anything that struck our fancies. (Not that we’re fancy, at least I know I’M not fancy…) I followed her up the pitch, managing to leave a little skin behind in the sharp crystal-y crack. We set up our toprope and by that time the boys were on their rappel. I was absolutely wiped from the weekend’s festivities, but Jamie and @rockgrrl managed to convince me to try the 10a toprope, which proved to be easier than I thought it would. I cut my teeth, so to speak, on glassy, sweaty slabs near my town and so the features there seemed juggy by comparison.

Jamie did the topropes, and then we broke down the setup and headed home, happily tired and stinky and hungry. I ate a quick dinner, packed up, and reluctantly said my goodbyes. By the time I got on the road, it was just after 7. The drive home was decidedly boring and took entirely longer than I expected on account of the fact that they decided to do late-night road construction on my route home. I arrived home dirty, scraped up, slightly sunburned, mosquito-bitten, and ready for bed. I took a mildly painful shower and crawled happily into my queen size pillowtop.
I slept well Monday night, and had to wake up way too early for my taste, but as usual, with a little bit of coffee I was able to make do. And here I am, still a little beat up but restlessly anticipating my next adventure…

Thanks to all parties involved for the great weekend and for being such wonderful people...I can't wait to meet more climber tweeps and convert some of you to jumping. :)

from a grown-up sized kid's perspective

2009-06-24T15:29:00.000-07:00

About three weeks ago, I moved in with a family that has four kids (ages 7, 5, 3 & 19 months). I love it. I get to help out with the kids and the house, and in exchange get to live out in the blissfully streetlight-less country, replete with beetles and roly-polys and vagrant Chihuahuas (don’t ask, I don’t really know).

I’ve been thinking about my favorite things about living with kids, and thought it’d be good to hash them out via the blogosphere if for no other reason than to organize them as they careen about in my already full brain.

So here goes.

I love the routine. They get up early, they crash early. I get to fit in to that routine to some degree, and my body loves it. Best sleep schedule I’ve had in years. There’s a level of expectation and schedule that kids’ bodies and minds demand and they function better at that level. They require it. Reminds me I sort of do too.

I love learning the fine fine art of distraction. There is nothing more effective in defusing an argument than distracting one or both parties. What an illustration of how we choose what most occupies us at that moment. What is most attractive. I’m sure we never really grow out of that.

I get to PLAY. Monday we rode bikes in the backyard, which sounds harmless but really resembles more of “we mountain biked through the field that extends past the first fence and way out to the second”. I am constantly impressed and interested in what these kids accomplish. Little goals and little benchmarks become big deals, because they are and they should be. Things like the first jump off the diving board, when you’re so scared because you’re in the deep end and your floaties might not save you even though Mom keeps telling you you’ll be fine. Reminds me not to forget to get excited about the little things, and to try things that seem hard or scary.

I like bugs. I like hunting for roly-polys and I like catching mosquito eaters and I like when I can’t get all the dirt from under my fingernails. I like inventing excuses to get the kids outside mostly so I can be outside too. They get along better out there, and everything’s always new. There’s always something to find and explore and examine.

I have yet to come up with any reasons not to love where I am, because even in the moments where things are noisy or busy or messy or (gasp!) stinky, it’s easy to feel blessed and alive.

no disclaimers here

2009-06-08T14:00:00.000-07:00

This will be mostly for my own good, which blogging often is. You know, in the self-actualizing way that writing something down kind of forces you to verbalize and acknowledge. This is mostly brought on by a recent gchat conversation with a dear friend in which we discussed the issue of feeling like kids running around in a grown up's world. She and I have known each other for a little over five years now, which is likely the longest I've known anyone that I didn't know before college. (Do the math...yes, I graduated in 2004.) Therefore, she is a kind of sounding board for my identity because we've watched one another ricochet all over the place trying to find where we fit. And I'd venture to say that we're on our way moreso than we've ever been, but we're not there yet. At least I'm not.

She and I will both be 23 in the next few months. I know, I know, we're just babies. Young adults in every sense of the phrase. We're fresh-faced (or something), idealistic, and uncertain. I'm still close enough to 18 that I can easily recall believing I'd sort of have it figured out by now. (Clearly, that's not the case.)

But I'm not 18 anymore. I've got a couple years under my belt. I don't claim to get it yet. I'm just saying that I'm starting to, you know? I find that I get most frustrated with myself when I look around and think that just because I'm a few years younger than most of the people I go to school with or even keep frequent contact with that I am separate from them. I'm not, and anytime I think I am, I have to stop and remember that people will respond to me. 22 (or 23 for that matter) is whatever I want it to be. If I want to segregate myself and feel young and silly, then people respect that. They really don't care. It's kind of up to me.

Most days I'm still reeling on the highs of newly discovered passions and then enduring their equal and opposite lows. I'm still trying to shed my tendency to make other people happy, because I'm realizing that never really worked for me anyways. It's still difficult, because that part of me runs really deep.

I'm impulsive and impetuous and awkward. I'm persistent and honest and concerned and curious. I've always been those things, and I probably always will be. It's learning to own them that makes the difference. And if you don't like me, I can be okay with that. :) I think.

we are lipstick and cleats/we are not going home/we are playing for keeps

2009-06-02T23:54:00.000-07:00

I don't really have a lot of organized words to share today...it's all a-jumble. So here's a few lines from various sources that have been infiltrating my psyche.

I felt I wanted to cry like a child for the very joy of being alive. And then I became aware of the silence...a total, incredible silence after the din of the aircraft, a great blue and white silence that would never end. The earth below, bright yellow in the sunshine and apparently motionless, did not seem to be rushing up towards me. I was hanging there in the sky, happy and peaceful in an element whose extraordinary qualities I began to savour: fluid, impalpable, with no obstacles. I realized for the first time how delightful it would be to live there in a breathtaking liberty. It was my element.
-Leo Valentin, Bird Man

It all comes down to this
You take your best shot, might miss
You take it anyway
You're gonna make your move today
Got the will, you'll find the way
To change the world someday
Grab this moment before it's gone
Today's your day

It's on

And the view will never change
Unless you decide to change it
Don't feel like it today
Just show up anyways
And though life will take you down
It only matters if you let it
Get up, go through, press on
Today's your day

It's on

And though you wanna quit
Don't think you can get through it
You've come too far to walk away
It's not gonna be today
And no matter how you feel
It's what you do that matters
This is your moment to be strong
Today's your day

It's on
-Superchic[k], It's On

one plunge step at a time

2009-05-30T20:13:00.000-07:00

I think fear & limits exist on a spectrum. The interaction of the two is what colors the decisions we make, from where to live to what to do on days off. It influences our interactions and determines how we approach both new and old relationships. And this interplay of sorts is dynamic, forever sensitive to a thousand other factors.

I've found myself more often recently explaining certain fears I have and how I deal with them, perhaps because they are at the front of my consciousness on a regular basis and discussing how I think about them helps me to articulate for myself the process of confronting them.

I'm scared of many things...some of the more tangible include fire, falling, being rejected, and failure. These fears I have, they're diffuse. They're "what ifs", and I don't like "what ifs". So I choose to set them aside until I have to confront them in a given situation, and then I parse them. I break them down, identify what about that fear in that situation makes me uncomfortable.

And I have limits. Interpersonal limits, limits of ability, self-imposed limits, situational constraints. What's funny is how much I realize that I choose these limits. I choose how much to share, how comfortable to be with someone. I choose how hard I work to develop a new skill, I choose how to respond. I choose where I live and where I work and what I do for fun. And because of that, I choose to be content. I have no right to project my frustrations with a given situation onto anyone else because when it really comes down to it, I have chosen to be where I am.

What a freeing concept.

And it's all still a process for me, and it will be--so far as I can tell--for a long long time. I'm okay with that. I choose that. I own it.

What do you think?

the top of the world

2009-05-26T16:26:00.000-07:00

Sometimes I have a hard time convincing people I'm afraid of heights. This is especially true considering the events that transpired over the past few days.

After a mere three hours of sleep, I managed to wake up before my alarm on Saturday, something that doesn't happen um...ever. And the fact that it was set for 6:30? Virtually miraculous. Anyways, so there I am, wide awake and ready for the two and a half hour drive up to the Lodi dropzone. I sipped coffee with cream and listened to the Dirtbag Diaries all the way up the state, periodically getting goosebumps when a particular story or sentiment resonated unexpectedly. Why did I not listen to the Dirtbag Diaries before recently?

I stopped at Grandma's to make a lunch, a visit that stretched from a quick hello into a two-hour heart-to-heart. Worth every second.

After I left there, I continued up the state and arrived in Lodi about noon. Now, I had decided, despite offers from friends who would accompany me, that this would be a solo adventure. I've come to prefer solo adventures. If I know myself at all, I know that I've spent a good part of my life being too sensitive to what other people think...of me, of what I say, of what we experience together...and that this was something I wanted to do by myself. That said, I will confess I was ever so slightly bewildered upon my arrival at the dz. It was busy and buzzing with activity and I didn't know a soul. Quickly I filled out my release and paid. Utilizing my hypersocial tendencies, I asked a friendly-looking woman where to find Brook & company, and she directed me towards them. Within ten minutes, I had six new friends, including Ryder, only the sweetest dog in the world.

I didn't have to wait too long. Once I had met everyone and gotten settled, it was pretty much time to meet my tandem master and suit up for my jump. Shortly thereafter, we took to the sky for an agonizingly long ascent. En route to our altitude, I met the jumpers behind me and to my left, one of whom commented on my lack of shaky hands. I am rather proficient at psyching myself "in" when I can anticipate a situation and choose how I want to respond to it. This was no different.

At altitude, the other tandem pair jumped, followed closely by CS and me. Even though it all happened very fast at this point, I have no trouble recalling any instant of it. It's completely intact, from the exit to the landing. Many times during the freefall, I had to remind myself to "look at the camera" (I got pictures since the few friends I told about the jump asked to see them, plus it'd be nice to have some record) instead of just soaking in the bliss of it all. That feeling is the best thing I can possibly imagine. That falling is so strangely peaceful. It has a direction and a purpose and it feels solitary. You are nowhere else in that moment. Enough with the philosophical mumbojumbo. :) When the canopy opened, CS and I chatted and joked and generally enjoyed ourselves, and the landing was easy.

After landing, I reassumed my position as Aunt Katie to Ryder the Fearless Dropzone Puppy. His mom and dad jumped all day, intermittently checking in for a hello or a snack. We spent the rest of the day chatting with countless other jumpers, going on walks, eating lunch...I met so many fun people and fell in love with the dynamics of the dropzone. The throngs of people as the planes were loading...then twenty minutes later they all drop out of the sky in a rush of color. Had I not come by myself, I wouldn't have had the opportunity to simply receive and process the interactions and activity the way I did.

After dinner with Liv, Matt, Brook, & Jimmy, I headed to my parents' to say hello and spend the night on my way home.

The next morning I woke up early and headed home, reeling from the effects of withdrawal from a day of activity. I've found this happens to me a lot whenever I really enjoy myself. I go from intensely content, positive feelings towards restless, unsettled moodiness. This was me all afternoon. I got to bed vaguely early Sunday night in preparation for Monday, tired but hopeful and excited.

Monday morning I woke up at the prescribed 3 a.m. for a 3:30 meetup at the local REI with all my climbing buddies for our Half Dome adventure. We hit the road for the two hour drive, me with coffee in hand. The sun started to twilight as we hit the park entrance. With all the blithe ignorance of not-yet-inducted and as-yet-forgotten-just-how-damn-hard-it-is half dome hikers, we took a few photos and set off happily. The JMT was our trail of choice, favored for its lack of heinous stone steps and considerably less cold and wet conditions, considering the hour.

For the next several hours, we hauled our progressively dirtier and sweatier and tireder selves up the trail, stopping for water and pictures and snacks when necessary and generally having as good a time as is possible when 11 friends are simultaneously pushing their physical limits. After what seemed like a lifetime, we crested the quarter dome and waited for all in our party to catch up. A few group photos later we joined the surprisingly small crowd at the cables for the last (and scariest!) push. (I still get the heebiejeebies when I picture the cables, and I've done them twice!)

Finally at the top, I cavorted about, posing for a photo here and there but mostly keeping my promise to myself: this time I was gonna do it better. I wasn't going to be sketched out the way I was the first time, and I was going to explore and enjoy myself instead of shying away from anything that resembled the edge.

An hour later we realized we were chasing daylight and needed to start for the trailhead immediately or risk an epic of sorts. With 11 hikers, this is anything but easy.

Exhausted and anxious, we headed down the trail in pockets, stopping only when necessary but otherwise plugging along steadily, trying not to think about our aching knees and feet. Once back at the cars, we assessed ourselves, assembled each carload, and set off for home. I had to pull over and switch drivers an hour later, something I hate doing but realize sometimes is necessary.

Finally, after a short shower, I crawled into bed. This morning when my alarm went off it was all I could do to even get out of bed. My body demanded that I sleep longer, and was a little sore to boot, but work won. On the way to work, I was still on an upswing, but by midday I was reeling with restlessness. I think I've equalized a little, but there's definitely more processing to do that has to wait until I can get to the gym for a little climbing therapy (an idea my body currently is protesting).

Until then, blue skies and happy trails!

everything I wish I could be

2009-05-21T23:10:00.000-07:00

Perhaps the most unlikely and unflinchingly constant supporter of the life I'm choosing to live is my grandmother. Don't get me wrong, we've always been close, but the closer I get to being a "grown-up", the more I realize that our bond has less to do with the fact that I'm her oldest grandkid and more to do with the idea that we are just very alike. She definitely kept my fierce sense of personal justice (read: butting heads with mom) at bay during who-knows-how-many maternal altercations during my adolescence.

I've always seen my grandma as a cautious person, a reliable harbinger of grandmotherly judgment. She's the first to remind me it's not safe to be outside after dark. Therefore, it's interesting for me to consider that my own restless spirit finds its roots in hers. However, she's been the one to acknowledge and approve of my transition to climbing and generally adventurous pursuits...and not brush it off the way others in my family do, reminding me that I have other things to worry about.

At lunch on Mothers' Day, she revealed things about herself and what she has wanted to do and I realized she holds a cache of as-yet-unfulfilled dreams that align rather closely with my own. In some ways, I feel that she encourages me to chase these adventures because she didn't. I don't mean that I am in some way making up for any of that, but that she "gets" it/me. I don't have to explain why I want to see the world and do all these things, because she does too. And to have someone like that...is pretty amazing.

_____________________

Some days it's all I can do not to pick up and drive out of town, up to the Valley or out to the boulders...just to be somewhere a little more tranquil where I can feel more in my element than I do here in town. As a recent convert to the world of adventure and outdoorshood, I'm still awestruck by the ease with which I can seriously consider absconding responsibility just to get out and breathe easier and get a little dirt under my nails. Up until a year or two ago, I found definition in what I accomplished--my academics, musical pursuits--and those things are still an integral part of who I am and what I love, but I am not defined solely by them. I'm at a place where my restless spirit can rest easy, where my inherent anxiousness is tempered by an inexhaustible sense of contentment.

Life is so so so good, friends. And that's not just the endorphins talking.

on where I've been and where I want to go

2009-05-17T00:28:00.000-07:00

Until I was about 20 1/2 or so, I was convinced I was going to run off to New York and be a writer. (in between that and wanting to be a renegade climber, I was certain I would join the Peace Corps after graduation) Tonight I happened across my folder from poetry class freshman year of college...

I want to write with that kind of abandon again, at least once in a while. I felt like I couldn't breathe unless I was writing. I would wake from a dead sleep in my dorm room because the words I had to get out were JUST THAT pressing. I had to write. Now, I can go back and read these reviews and these comments my poetry professor (who almost convinced me to switch to English as a major and I probably would have if I thought I could keep up with the reading when I would much rather have been doing my own--I'm an incorrigible bibliophile) wrote, and for the first time, they make better sense than they ever did before.

This was my very first class poem (my first and only attempt at sonnet writing for that matter), printed on 2/2/05 for our "sonnet" class:

Upon the death of some fantastic storm
the soft'ning of a strong and angry rain
the clearing of the clouds which long had borne
a rhythmic and a passionate refrain,

the Sun appears and shows his glowing face
against the background of a milky blue.
The crisp air will sky's rosy cheeks embrace
as what was frail at once begins anew.

A landscape that had long been steeped in dust
is washed clean and the view is something strange
to eyes that had forgotten that it's what
is seen behind the storm that highlights change.

So much like when the skies pour down their pain
is crying as the storm of mortal strain.

I WANT TO BE ABLE TO WRITE LIKE THIS AGAIN!!!
So, I think I would be content with a happy medium. I'd like the urgency to come back, the recklessness...but tempered with the reality of experience that I'd venture to say I'm slowly acquiring. I want more than ever to write music again, to write songs and get back in the groove with my guitar and actually play those shows and open mics I swore I'd do.

It's going to happen.

eye of the tiger/thrill of the fight

2009-05-08T13:23:00.000-07:00

I've opted not to go to nationals, so competition season is over for me. Now I get to switch over to weekend trips to the Valley and "training" at the gym for next season! In the meantime, and mostly for posterity, I figured it wouldn't be a bad idea to record my comp experience event by event. Here goes nothing...

Davis
Our first comp of the season was at UC Davis, and we had a pretty good team turnout. Seven or eight competitors, if I remember correctly. This was also my first comp ever, attending or participating.
At this event, I learned the importance of pace. Four hours seems like a long time, and I've been known to enjoy gym sessions even longer than that, but four hours at or near your limit is a different story. At the gym, I project. I play. I rarely send, but it doesn't matter. At a comp, it's different. I may play on V4s and 5s at the gym, but throwing yourself at a problem in a comp setting only wears you out. I learned this the hard way. (Trying to use a huge bowl at the top of a toprope route as a sloper because your fingers are too tired isn't stylish. Or classy. Or easy.)
I finished fourth. BARELY. We're talking I was the last one on the wall, had one last chance to send, I was exhausted. But that last try...it was poetry. Every part of my body knew where to be, I felt strong, I felt fluid...a SEND. I didn't even feel the flapper I got on the last try. I didn't care how I placed at that point. I finished.
And then, when the team dropped me off at my parents' place on the way back down the highway and my dad took me to the hot tub at his health club the next morning...and he told his friends that his daughter was a climber and just finished her first competition...I felt like I was twelve, not twenty-two--but in a good way.

Incline Village/Sierra Nevada College
I'm just gonna come straight out and say it...this was my least favorite comp. Not only was I not with it, but the atmosphere wasn't as good as the others.
Let's start with my pre-comp status. I was fighting an infection where my new ear piercing had gotten all gross, which made it impossible to sleep for longer than two hours at a stretch because it was so painful. Two consecutive nights of this is never good for a body. Factor in the borderline-excess amount of ibuprofen I was taking that probably wasn't helping my digestive system at all and you have a recipe for yuck.
However, I was not to be deterred, even when almost all of my teammates bailed on the comp last-minute when they found out it was a five hour drive. Bring on the alpine start, the meeting in the supermarket parking lot in the dead of night and hitting the highway long before sunrise. At least I didn't have to worry about falling asleep at the wheel--my ear hurt too much.
Now for the scoring...the object at this comp was to climb as much as you could in the four hours of competition. Volume, not difficulty. Immediately, I decided to play all day. There was no way I'd do well. I played on the finger crack (yum!) and the hand crack multiple times. I was not surprised at all when I didn't place (nor was I disappointed when I checked results on the CCS site later and I came in ninth. out of ten.)
The highlight of this trip was the drive and the fact that we stopped at my parents' for dinner on the way home. I spent ten hours on the road with two of my best guy climber friends, talking climbing. I'm pretty sure I wear out my welcome with my non-climbing friends because I can't stay away from talking about it, but I've never felt so much like I belonged as I did in the car with those two. I did have to stop for coffee twice on the way home, but we made it. In one piece.

Twisters
Favorite. Comp. Of. The. Season. I drove, again, because our "coach" had just gotten off a twelve hour shift at the hospital and was in no shape to drive three hours.
I can distinctly remember all five routes that counted for my score:
First there was the stemmy one upstairs that Casey said didn't count since I smeared more than I used the holds. My strength is flexibility, and I used it. You can't say it doesn't count because I essentially did the splits. That's my business. I stayed on route.
Then there was the crazy one that involved pinching a doorframe that took me like four tries, but was so fun it was worth it.
Downstairs, I tried a few of the overhanging routes but nothing clicked, so I spent my energy on the slab. Two surprising sends later, I headed back upstairs for another gazillion goes at the prow with the dyno to the top.
Now, this route had all of us fixated. It was worth a lot of points and wasn't a really difficult route, except for the last darn move. You're sprawled across this prow and the only way to top out is throw your body at the slope-y top of the wall. Each fall counts against your score, but you get so close you don't want to give up. After I finally got it, I called it a day and turned in my card, then headed downstairs and outside for a beer.
That's right, they had beer. Sierra Nevada, to be exact. At the comp. And hamburgers. And veggie burgers. It was delicious.
Then we congregated outside for the "speed bouldering" on the side of the building. That was fun. Who doesn't like to scramble up a building to hit a cymbal then drop fifteen feet onto a three-foot crash pad. (I still have a scar on my toe.)
After the awards (I got third!) we got full reign on the gymnastics studio. To a former gymnast, this is heavenly. A foam pit, a bounce house, bars, beams, a floor...it's like a playground!
Even the drive home was nice. I climbed into bed happy and tired that night.

Fresno
My home gym. Where I've spent countless hours shirking responsibility, avoiding homework, laughing, playing, and probably even sleeping. I was mostly excited to have all my new comp friends come visit, nevermind that we were going to climb together all day. (And the fact that the REI used gear sale was the same day which meant I'd be spending the night before the comp outside REI didn't bother me one bit.)
The comp went okay...I wasn't bouldering well that day. My one flowy, lovely, good-feelings route was a balance-y toprope. And it was green holds--my favorite color. I finished enough to complete my card, then spent the last hour and a half teaching the Sonoma girls the basics of crack climbing. I'm still a crack novice myself, but I aim to convert as many as I can, since it is my favorite.
While they were scoring the cards, we had a slackline competition. The only thing I like almost as much as climbing is slacklining, so this was good for me. I also got to debut the one cool trick I know--splits on the slackline. A girl's gotta have some tricks to keep up with the boys who do all the crazy backflips and jumping things.
We did enjoy some delicious Lucky Charms pizza (don't ask) before the awards ceremony. The gym was super-full of people, all my favorites, too--you know, the people I climb with almost on a daily basis. Good feelings were had by all.
Another third (!) place finish (in my category) was nice, but it was even cooler that one of my friends took second, because she doesn't realize how naturally talented and strong she really is.
And the next day I left for my Arizona-Colorado trip...can't beat that weekend, not for someone who loves more than anything else: climbing, traveling, and hugging.

Sonoma
Regionals. Five full-size people, crammed into my tiny little Civic for a four hour drive up the state.
The facility was okay. It was super tiny for a crowd of our size, but it was good. I climbed okay, but was more interested in doing headstands and handstands and backwalkovers than getting frustrated with myself. I decided to go with the flow of the day and choose my attitude instead of getting down on myself for not climbing superhard. I had a couple good sends and a few fun almost-sends.
We stopped for fish and chips on the way out of town, opting not to go to the after party on account of the four hour drive home. This alleged four hour drive turned out to be an epic, and we didn't get home until midnight. There was the 2+ hours of traffic, the lost wallet...but it was pleasant. I wouldn't choose anyone else to have done it with. Four of my dearest friends who have come to feel like family.

Now for the cool part. According to the scoring done at regionals, I was maybe 5th for the comp and 4th for the season. Respectable. Exciting, even. But, when I checked the results this week, I realized they had not calculated correctly that day and I was 2nd instead. For about three nanoseconds I was disappointed about this not being caught actually at the comp, but then I was elated. Who cares? I can still get jazzed. Heck, I am jazzed! Jazzed so much so that the day I found out, later that night I sent two of my hardest bouldering routes.

Here's to next year!

where I was before climbing

2009-04-21T12:34:00.000-07:00

This is mostly in response to Sara's blog but it's definitely a recent theme in my life. Go visit her blog first so my references make more sense. :)

Let's see...where do I start?

Growing up I was a veritable nonathlete, though happily so. I played little league when I was seven (only girl on the team...missing my two front teeth in the team photo...). I went out for track when I was in seventh grade mostly because I knew my lack of hand-eye coordination probably wouldn't make me a good candidate for basketball or volleyball. I'll confess I tried out for cheer twice and was bummed I didn't make the team, though now I'm thankful I didn't. (ha. Sara, check out the sports similarities here...) On the track team, I chose to be a shotputter (all 4'10", 65 lbs of me) because they had to run fewer backstops and I HATED RUNNING. I still do, mostly. My lungs just don't handle it well. I quit the team after one meet for two reasons: I couldn't throw the shotput (I was PATHETIC. I could drop the darn thing.) and I got terrible shinsplints.

I did do gymnastics off and on from age seven through high school graduation. However, I was never a powerful gymnast, for reasons I found out later, which are also likely the same reasons I developed scoliosis as an adolescent. I was (and really still am) abnormally flexible. My physical therapist last year voiced suspicions that I might have joints that are just extra loose (hypermobile, Sara? it's a suspicion, though not a diagnosis in my case) and that could not only help explain my back problems but also all the joint pain I've experienced in the last ten years.

Anyways, I did a lot of choir and music-related things all through high school. I danced and was generally very academically-oriented. Again, NOT ATHLETIC. I went to college on an academic scholarship, starting as a Spanish major, then linguistics, and finally settled on speech pathology, which is what my degree is in. Through most of college, I spent time doing choir and dance performance classes and avoiding schoolwork with recreational reading. Somewhere around two years ago, a friend suggested going to the climbing gym.

So we started going to the gym. Maybe once a week, pretty regularly. I really started to like it. Then I landed funny on a bouldering pad and fractured my ankle in May of 2007. I had surgery in August of 2007, and didn't start climbing again until after January of 2008. Started back at square one.

I climbed on and off until fall of 2008, when I hiked Half Dome for the first time. On that trip, I realized that I was seeing Yosemite through completely different eyes. I wanted to be OUTSIDE. I wanted to be THAT girl. I took a rec class through my university that took me outdoor climbing for the first time last October. Hook, line, and sinker. I met people who would climb regularly, and I started climbing two or three times a week. In January 2009, I started competing locally through the CCS (I'm eligible as a grad student!) and that put me at the gym training and meeting awesome people all the time.

Also, sometime last fall I read High Infatuation, Steph Davis's awesome book. Her book fully turned on its head my perception of what it was to do what I wanted with my life (I read it in the midst of falling in love with climbing and applying for grad school and evaluating what adulthood was going to mean for me). To see that someone can do what they love and love what they do and be so gracious and open...hit me hard. So thanks, Steph!

I started to dream about climbing and exploring and I was constantly reading adventure and mountaineering literature. I went on a trip over spring break to visit a friend in Phoenix and another in Denver, and even as I'm flying over the desert, I'm seeing these mountains and I'm drawn to them in a way I can't explain.

Over the weekend, I was assigned the nickname "Granola". My mother, in all her Coldwater Creek-wearing, hair-done-every-eight-weeks-ness asked me when I was home a few weeks ago if I still shave my legs, which is her way of acknowledging that I'm kind of becoming someone she doesn't quite "get" but she's okay with it. (For the record, I do shave.) None of this is who I anticipated becoming.

So here I am now. CCS season is wrapping up. I've just come off ANOTHER weekend of climbing. I am constantly bruised and scraped and tired and HAPPY. I'm happy and fulfilled and balanced like I've never been before. I have every reason in the world to be less than balanced...I recently split with someone I've been dating more or less on-and-off since I was a freshman. I'm a first-semester grad student. I have NO IDEA what I'm supposed to do with my life after this. But life is GOOD.

I think I'll try defying gravity

2009-04-03T00:55:00.000-07:00

Lately I've been thinking a lot about volition and independence. I've had to, over the last several months, determine the level of responsibility I'm willing to accept for what I choose to do with my life. And once again, climbing is helping me to process kinesthetically what I'm going through mentally.

Deciding to forgo my undergraduate course of study for a completely new program for my master's was a difficult choice to make. I struggled for some time with whether or not it was right. It has only been by the grace of God and his faithfulness to remind me in less-than-subtle ways that I oughtn't doubt him that I've realized I am exactly where I need to be right now. Coincidentally, I've been learning to crack climb. Now, I preface this with a disclaimer because I don't know that throwing oneself at a man-made fissure in the wall (save for the couple highballs I tried outside) at the gym legitimately counts as crack climbing, but I have certainly been fighting to keep skin attached to the back of my hands, so whatever that means...anyways. I've found that in crack climbing I have to be utterly present and I have to be deliberate and patient. I have to commit and I can't rush ahead. I can look ahead, I can anticipate, but I have to stay right where I am. And that is where it connects with "real life". I need to choose to be present and commit to where I am now.

Also, my recent foray into the world of highballing, however brief, ignited an interest in soloing and really exploring my capabilities, in spite of the fact that I am terrified of falling and thus of heights/exposure. I really really really like the idea of taking responsibility for myself, for my own accomplishments and shortcomings. This is part of the reason I'm so excited for my trip next week. For the first time, I have elected to travel not for anyone else (granted, I'm visiting friends, but the travel itself is solo) but because I want to. I had to commit to the trip, financially and time-wise, and consider the idea of going places I haven't been by myself. I need that right now. I need to feel capable and independent.

I can't help but be overcome with good, happy, loving feelings for my recent friends. I am terribly blessed by the new people in my life that are just as enthusiastic as I am, who will listen to me jabber nonstop about climbing because they love it too and they don't get tired of talking about it. It's like I can't believe I lived as long as I did without this huge part of my life. What did I do before this? What did I look forward to? What made me tick? It's all so new and big and enticing and enveloping...

less skin, more clarity

2009-03-25T00:14:00.000-07:00

Saturday and Monday have transformed how I perceive and respond to my passion. Saturday's trip outdoors, despite its lack of actual climbing on my part (I was relegated to the ranks of belayer on account of the number of first-timers that needed belaying), only served to heighten my desire to see and do more. I mean, there was the "off-roading" in the Civic, which was awesome...but that's another story. I'm talking about the way things come into focus, the way I can spend six hours just in the vicinity of the granite, a rope in my hands, and be utterly content. And Monday...Monday's crack climbing session tore up my hands, as usual, but I was nearly overwhelmed by the total sense of my own motivation as a source for perseverance. It was just me and the wall, dancing and conversing. I'm in my element there, shoving my bleeding hands into a concrete fissure, squeezing and pulling. I feel strong and present when I'm doing that, and in those moments I am doing something I choose and I want to succeed at. I like that feeling.

forced to sit still for a moment

2009-03-11T18:02:00.000-07:00

In the end, climbing is what I love, my own expression of joy. Everything else is just noise. -Steph Davis, High Infatuation

I have never loved any activity the way I love climbing. It's what I dream about, what I think about when I'm doing other things, it's what I talk about, it's what I want to be doing. I can't articulate properly the palpable camaraderie that exists when I spend time with friends who are as infatuated as I am.
Thus, upon the recent flaring up of shoulder pain on account of the fact that I'm pulling too much plastic too often and getting strong too fast...I'm having a hard time. I get angry because the one thing I want to do--my escape, my balance, where I process and express--is painful and difficult. Instead of feeling capable and strong, I feel weak and frustrated.

Though climbing can be hell on a love relationship, it offers an unparalleled sense of community. [...] being a driven person is hard. Being in love with that person can be even harder. -Steph Davis, High Infatuation

I've not been healthily single in some years. And I can't help but think that my hunger for movement did not build our relationship. How do I reconcile my emotional needs with those of someone who wants nothing to do with the very thing that is most therapeutic for me emotionally?
And so here I am, a week out of the split, frustrated over a shoulder injury and fighting to move and to process all that's going on in my head but not wanting to wreck my body.
My tendency to fixate can be my greatest asset and conversely my hugest obstacle. I can focus and I can fight, but I struggle so much with stepping back to see bigger. I'm immediate, I'm driven. I need resolution and expectation.

Right now, in this moment, I am content. I am not anxious or angry. I want to seize the quiet surging of motivation in my chest and ration it across my days so that I can keep breathing, just like this.

on growing up and gaining perspective

2009-03-04T01:38:00.000-08:00

I'm not sure what I want to do. I'm nearly twenty-three (okay, eight months to go) and I'm a graduate student and I have a place to live and a community to be part of and I want to see the world. I want to know that it's okay to desire not to settle into what I perceive to be the expectations projected onto me.
I want to know that I can keep dreaming big in the way that everyone encourages you to when you're seven. When you're brimming with potential--you can be anything you want. I want to know that it's okay to believe that now.
I want to go on big adventures and learn about this place we inhabit. I want to share meals with new friends and to have the opportunity to visit old ones.
I feel like I'm running out of time, like I have to choose. I know I can be happy with what I've chosen, with where I've chosen, and that I can make this work. Rationally, I know that. I also know that I am STILL brimming with potential, that I am only twenty-two with no real responsibilities and all the time in the world to discover my world.

Is it possible to reconcile reality with the what-ifs and big dreams?

on restlessness and rainy days

2009-02-13T23:51:00.000-08:00

So I was really good about updating for a while there, and then a monthlong hiatus. To my credit, with this juggling of multiple jobs and school, I don't spend as much time musing in the way that my soul needs. Daniel put it quite well: I have a restless heart. I am more exhausted by waiting than I am by going and doing. And in doing a lot of waiting, I force my spirit into a sort of restricted, choke-y state where I feel less passionately and I am susceptible to frustration and lethargy. I just function better when I'm thinking and moving and exploring. And I nearly crashed my car when I caught a glimpse of the Sierras this afternoon when the cloud cover cleared up.

I'm aching to get up to Yosemite again soon, but family takes priority since I haven't been home since before New Year's. I'll have to make do for now.

I'm reading a lot, which is good. Nothing like the breathless frenzy of literary devouring that happened over break, but still a steady diet of recreational reading, sometimes at the expense of required reading or sleep.

Oh yeah. Sleep. I should do that.

too many changes

2009-01-12T21:45:00.000-08:00

I didn't expect to be so upset when my dad told me it was time to put Josh down. I knew it would be coming. But for some reason when he said it was going to happen this week, I had to really try to hold it together the rest of the conversation. He's 14, which means we've had him since I was my sister's age exactly. I probably met him nearly 14 years ago this week. That also means that I am acutely cognizant of all memories of him, because at eight you pretty much keep those memories intact--they don't get muddled and distorted as much as the earlier ones.

He's such a sweet boy, with the kindest eyes. He's mellow, but he's always been kind of like an old man--a little bit fiery and not afraid to let you know. He was the one who woke Dad when the house next door caught fire when I was in the fifth grade, and he used to sleep next to Meghan's bassinet and check on her if she stirred. He's always looked a little funny, like a character from a Dr. Seuss book. He knows who he likes.

At the risk of sounding trite and overly elegiac, I'll leave it at that.

And Dad said they're planning to put in an offer on a fixer-upper ranchette on the outskirts of town. I'm so far from all of this. I'm probably more okay with the idea of them moving now that I'm really truly "out of the house" and have been for some time now. They threatened to move about six or eight years ago and I wanted nothing to do with it. Now I'm a little more detached and so it seems less threatening to my own perception of "home". Home is here, where I live now. "Home" is with my family, wherever they choose to be.

the trees appear aflame in the hour of sundown

2009-01-12T00:37:00.000-08:00

Today someone asked if I was considering foregoing the snow trip next weekend because of the money or because I was stressed over it. And I realized that it was both. I stress when I have no money, but I was also anxious over the prospect of losing precious alone time, something I've come to covet and savor and guard especially over the last few months. I need it. I've always known that, but having experienced it, having come to love quiet evenings at home with tea and a book or even just organizing around the house...I hesitate to make plans and I'm becoming less apt to accept them.

I'm eating better and I'm feeling so much more balanced. I'm excited about what the next few weeks hold. Now if I could just figure out how to get past this issue with my body thinking I have the time to sleep ten hours a day, I'd be golden.

traces of ambition

2009-01-11T02:07:00.000-08:00

I need goals. Repeatedly I am reminded of this, especially lately. It's sometimes hard for me to set them, because I am so impulsively obsessive that I have a hard time existing outside my immediate reality. Also, I am so sensitive to what's going on with other people--what they think and what they feel--that I often have trouble discerning what exactly it is that I need and want.

So, in the spirit of my burgeoning adulthood and the implied lack of direction I have, I suppose I ought to set some goals.

1) I will finish cleaning my room out this month
2) I will make more friends that climb trad and will teach me, and find some way to offer my gratitude
3) I will climb 5.11 and boulder V5 by the end of the year
4) I will earn As in my graduate school classes
5) I will put some money away so I can start saving more, and I will take over more of my own expenses
6) I will write more songs
7) I will climb El Cap by my 30th birthday
8) I will teach my sister how to love music the way I do
9) I will spend more time with my brother
10) I will learn a new language
11) I will figure out how to tell my parents I'm a vegetarian, despite the fact I'm pretty sure they're worried I'm a hippie as it is
12) I will run a 5K

I've enjoyed lately the sensation of settling into my personality and my life. I can't say this has always been the case, but the worst of it is over and now I feel like I'm becoming who I want to be. And the person I want to be needs moments of intense solitude in as much quantity and intensity as the moments of entire engagement with others that I love so dearly. She needs lots of sleep and she's awkward in the way that keeps her grounded--usually. She dreams of new places and adventures and new people with whom to connect. She appreciates the unknown and is comfortable with uncertainty.

on friends and strangers

2009-01-10T19:25:00.000-08:00

Robyn and Annie and I met for dinner at my favorite Ethiopian restaurant. If being vegan meant I could eat food that good ALL the time, I'd do it. I realized in waiting for them that I legitimately enjoyed the leisure of waiting. If my life is lived at such a breakneck pace that I can't just sit and enjoy the moments I'm in, then something's wrong. There are so many interesting people to meet and watch and wonder about.

For instance, when I went to the bagel shop for lunch this week, I purposely sought to savor the distinct pleasure of feeling solitary in a room of strangers. Outside it was drizzling, and just as I finished my soup, a tall, thin fellow sat down outside on the other side of the window next to me. He removed his green backpacking pack and pulled out an old songbook. His guitar was streaked with rivulets of rain. I hadn't seen him arrive, so I don't know whether he drove or walked. The back of his worn denim coat read "Fresno Co. Jail" in faded white letters, and his hair hung in a stringy mohawk across his forehead. As he practiced his guitar, I considered that there was probably much to his story. It was all I could do not to seek a conversation as I was leaving.

My mother doesn't like this about me, this propensity I have for being interested in people I don't know. She worries I'm too trusting. I worry I'm too selfish. I don't know which of us is right.

adventure day

2009-01-10T14:30:00.000-08:00

Originally posted December 29, 2008 at 10:42 p.m.

It's time to start a new one. Fresh and as-yet unspoiled by my frantic musings.
So here goes.

I'm still caught up in the heady experience of Yosemite-in-winter that occupied my day. I fall more in love with that place each time I visit. Maddie, Jillian and I drove up this morning to spend the day bumming around the Valley. Maddie and I have both been aching for the mountains lately, which warranted at least a day trip.

Living so close allows for a late start, which we had. I find it exceptionally easy to wake up if I have something exciting to do. Conversely, if I'm headed to work or class, getting up might as well be a lost cause better left to the more motivated and serious.

So much of the day was downright pleasant--the company, the new people (like the ones I met from Australia whilst waiting for the shuttle), the traipsing through calf deep snow among the powder-covered boulders just outside the boundaries of Camp 4.

I find myself utterly captivated by the prospect of someday climbing those big walls. I am astounded by the perspective that apprehends my consciousness when I consider how massive just those little Xs on the maps are when compared to my little reality. Imagining myself climbing like that unsettles my stomach and makes my heart pound. I have so far to go.